More Than She Seems
by elfiehead
Summary: After a chance encounter with Idril, an old friend, Prince Legolas decides to reignite their friendship, and soon finds himself drawn to her strange ways. What he doesn’t know, however, is that Idril has a secret: one that could kill her and all her kind.
1. Chapter One

**Hi, and welcome to 'More Than She Seems'. This is my first story on the Internet, and I really do hope you enjoy reading it!**

**Rated T for adult themes in later chapters.**

**Disclaimer: **Basically, if you don't recognise it, it's mine. The name name 'Idril' (among a couple of others) is Tolkien's name, and Idril Celebrindal is one of Tolkien's characters. However, the Idril in this story **not** the same as nor related to Idril Celebrindal and is a completely original character.

_-Laura._

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**MORE THAN SHE SEEMS**

Chapter One

She stood silently; ignoring the mass of Elves in front of her, and absorbing the mild mossy feel of the deep forest. The massage of the dewy grass beneath her feet was mesmerising and relaxing, and more than anything right now, she longed to throw off her light shoes and romp around in the luscious blades of grass that surrounded her. Sweet Mirkwood music started playing, and her entire body came alive from the smooth, yet bright, melody. She craved to be like this, standing alone with naught but the music floating past her ears, forever…

"Idril!"

Her eyes snapped open, and she suddenly remembered where she was. Her eyes swept around the clearing, observing the skilful band and their music, and the graceful Elves that danced along with the rhythm. She looked over to her left where her enraged mother was hastily striding over to her, fire blazing in her eyes, and sighed quietly.

"Idril, I have been here waiting since dusk for you to dance with just one Elf, and you have not stirred even one inch from your standing place!"

"No one yet has asked me to dance, mother," replied Idril politely.

"That is because they think you are a silent spectator. I bring you here out of the goodness of my heart to help you find a suitor, and all you do is stand there like a tree," said Garhirel. Garhirel's normally pale blue eyes were now a deep shade of royal blue. "Now go out there and look pretty."

Idril was shoved harshly into the clearing where the festival was being held. She straightened her deep green velvet dress, and briskly ran her fingers through her dark brown hair. She examined the joyful Elves in their beautiful long dresses and smart tunics, swaying freely with the music and having a wonderful time - much unlike herself.

A hand abruptly fell on Idril's shoulder, and a head came to rest near hers.

"If you're lucky, perhaps you will be able to dance with the Prince," whispered Garhirel, a little too kindly for Idril's liking.

When Idril registered that Garhirel had said 'Prince', she glanced over to the Royal table, where the King Thranduil, Queen Irethel, Prince Legolas and other royals were quietly arguing. The debate ended when the Prince gave an exasperated look towards his father and strode out confidently into the middle of the clearing. He gave an absolutely beautiful Elf a perfect smile and led her out into the middle of the clearing to dance.

"The Prince will never desire a dance with me. Just look how happy he is with the Lady Alassea," said Idril, in an attempt to convince Garhirel to get the both of them out of the festival and Prince's presence, and heading home to her father and little brother. Garhirel nodded, and started walking away slowly. When she was three paces away from her daughter, she turned her head to face the weary Idril.

"You are right, no one would want you," she snarled, gave a mean grin, and then continued walking. This normally would have brought tears to Idril's eyes, but by now she had had lots of practice keeping an indifferent expression at times when her mother brought her down, which was not a scarce event.

* * *

"Please, no more father. I have danced enough."

"Legolas," stated Thranduil sternly. "I want you to find a wife, and here is a good place to encounter said consorts."

"I will not fall in love with them."

"When I wed your mother, we were not in love. Nevertheless, we are now," replied King Thranduil, and placed a caring hand over his wife's.

"You were forced to love," pointed out Legolas. Thranduil hesitated for a moment before answering.

"Yes, I was…" he started slowly. "Yet… everything has turned out splendidly. Were it not for me being 'forced to love' your mother, you would not have been born." Legolas just stared at the delicate white tablecloth trimmings.

"Please Legolas, dance with some more Elves. For me?" asked Legolas' mother, Irethel, with the sweetest smile she could muster. Legolas sighed, a long, fatigued breath escaping his lips. He looked up hesitantly towards his mother who was innocently tracing the pattern on the tablecloth with her elegant index finger.

"Thank you, Irethel," said Thranduil and looked expectantly at his son, his eyebrows raised. Legolas just shot Thranduil an exasperated look, quietly got out of his chair and randomly picked the next girl to dance with. He smiled mannerly at Lady Alassea, took her arm and led her out into the middle of the clearing to dance.

"What a good son we have," commented Thranduil and raised his goblet to his lips, keeping an eye on the excellently dancing Legolas.

"You are an admirable dancer my Lord!" complimented Lady Alassea, the only child of Lord Elrond's son, Elrohir.

"As are you, m'Lady," replied Legolas, only half-heartedly.

"Well, this is fun!" Alassea piped up randomly. Legolas just studied her excited face and gave a small smile. Alassea was definitely too young and naïve for him – he was closing in on 2500 years, yet she had not even reached two hundred. At last, after what seemed like an Age for Legolas, the song finished and he was able to be free of the young child. He trudged back to his father's table and slumped down in his chair.

"That's enough father, can we go home now?" asked Legolas wearily.

"Legolas, this is our festival and we do not wish to end it here and now," replied Thranduil, and took a small sip of his wine. When he saw the uneasy look on his son's face, he sighed and set his full goblet down on the table quietly and carefully.

"All right, Legolas, you can go home," said Thranduil. Legolas eyed him carefully.

"Thank you, father," he replied.

"However…" continued Thranduil, raising a hand. Legolas groaned.

"What are my conditions?"

"One last dance, Legolas. That is all I ask of you."

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Idril watched in silence. She desperately longed to dance to the beautiful elvish music being played, and lark about in the trees, but she was far too shy to do so with so many unknown Elves present. More than ever she just wanted to dash away unnoticed to her beloved father and find that he was well, and then they could sit in the forest and talk to the trees for days. She started to close her eyes dreamily, but was interrupted by the sense of another Elf nearby. She turned her head lazily, expecting her mother, and opened her mouth to try to explain why she was not yet dancing. But instead of looking at her mother, Idril found that she was inches away from the Prince's handsome face.

"Greetings," said Legolas, and took her hand and kissed it gentlemanly. Idril was speechless, so Legolas had to talk for her.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked, and gestured towards the clearing with an outstretched arm. Idril's brain began working again, and she curtsied hurriedly.

"My Lord."

"I will take that as an acceptance then," said Legolas, smiling slightly. He offered his elbow, Idril took it, and he led her out to the clearing. The music started, Legolas lightly wrapped one arm around her waist and held her hand with his, and she placed her free hand on his shoulder. Slowly they started to dance, in silence, for Idril did not want to say anything that might possibly offend the Prince. Over his shoulder, she could see her mother smirking, obviously pleased with herself, so Idril quickly looked down to the ground. The silence finally ceased when Legolas spoke up.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Idril, your Highness," she replied, not looking at him.

"You are a fine dancer, Idril," he complimented. Idril looked him in the eye and the corners of her mouth lifted in an attempt to smile but truth be told, she was far too nervous to consciously move any muscle in her entire body aside from her legs. She figured that Legolas could probably sense her anxiety, because he tightened the grip around her waist a fraction, and smiled reassuringly.

"Where is your father?" he asked, trying to strike up a conversation. If he was going to have to suffer one last dance, he was at least going to have fun, and not dance stiffly the entire time. Idril looked down at the ground for a second, and then back at him.

"My father could not make it, my Lord."

"Oh? Why not?" asked Legolas, trying to keep her talking.

"He is ill."

"With what?" he asked, not noticing properly what she had just said.

"I do not know, your Highness."

"Oh."

After a brief period of serenity between the two, Idril suddenly found the courage to ask the Prince the question that had been on her mind from when they first started dancing. She watched her dress flow between her legs for a minute, thinking of how to start. She observed her rather plain shoes as they peeped out from the bottom of the velvet when she moved forwards, and the movement of the grass as Legolas' and her feet passed over the top of the blades. She lifted her head to look just past his head and drew in a breath.

"You do not remember me, do you, Prince Legolas?" she asked, being careful not to look him in the eye.

Legolas stared at her thoroughly, and Idril could feel his bright eyes cruising over her face.

"Tell me your last name, and I may remember."

"Súlorn, my Lord."

Legolas obviously thought long and hard about her name, as he furrowed his brow and he concentrated solely on her pleasant face.

"Idril!" he smiled.

"You remember?" she asked, astonished.

"Of course! We went to tutoring together, did we not?"

"Yes."

"Your father is Mablung, and he is the one who taught us all there is to know about the trees. That was thousands of years ago, please forgive me for not recognising you." Idril's eyes widened a little.

'_The Prince wants my forgiveness?'_

"Of course I forgive you," she replied, the tiniest smile escaping her lips. The music got a little faster, and Idril sank into the warmth of the music, the forest and the Prince. She completely forgot about her mother and all the other Elves in the clearing and just let herself be free, dancing along happily to the song, the Prince keeping her warm. When he spun her around, she was happy to oblige, and turned gracefully. Every now and then, she would look up timidly at Legolas and find that he too was staring at her, and she would blush and shyly look away.

When the song stopped, Legolas, instead of smiling and walking away, placed his hand delicately on Idril's soft velvet back and starting leading her towards the table around which his mother and father were sitting with their noble guests. Idril was slightly confused, but let herself be escorted by Legolas in the direction of the Royal family.

Queen Irethel leaned over to her husband, who was sitting proudly at the head of the table.

"It seems like Legolas is having fun."

Thranduil turned to Irethel and grinned.

"It certainly does. I am surprised – he seems to have taken more of a liking towards this unknown Elf than to the beautiful Lady Alassea."

"Hush, they are coming," whispered Irethel, looking obviously in the direction of Legolas and Idril, and cocked her head towards them. Thranduil followed her gaze and examined the incredibly dark haired Elf with curious eyes. She definitely was different from the other Elves of which Legolas could choose from – her hair was darker than any Elves' present, and she was most definitely not what one would call beautiful. Pretty, in her own way, but not spectacular.

"She is frightened," muttered Thranduil, and Irethel heard him.

"Be nice," warned Irethel. "Purely because she is not of noble blood does not mean we have permission to torment her."

Thranduil just sighed, stood up gracefully from his chair and strode over to Legolas and Idril. Legolas bowed when Thranduil reached the two, and Thranduil nodded his head.

"Father, this is Idril. Idril, this is my father, the King Thranduil," introduced Legolas. Idril curtsied deeply, lifting her dress with grace.

"King Thranduil, my Lord."

As she stood back up, Thranduil cupped her chin with his hand and studied her face. While close up, he could not describe to himself what it was that made her unremarkable, yet her face settled together to form a comely picture.

His eyes were dragged to fall upon her hair. She had long, wavy, dark brown hair falling softly over her deep green velvet dress. It twisted into slight curls at the bottom, the shorter strands resting delicately on her bosom, a little of which the dress allowed to be visible. He carefully scanned her face. She had slightly rosy cheeks, which settled nicely on her unblemished skin that was a fraction more healthy-looking than the normal pale elvish complexion. Her lips were redder than the usual pale pink of female Elves, and for a moment, he thought that indeed she might be human. However, the telltale pointed ears were not completely hidden by her hair and he knew that she was of the Elven race, but whether she was Sindarin or Silvan he was yet to determine.

Legolas stood motionless, watching his father inspect Idril. He was almost embarrassed by the way that Thranduil scanned her face, shallowly searching for any flaws. However, he saw that Thranduil was extremely interested in the girl, so decided to wait whilst his father analysed Idril's face. She had changed since he had last seen her, over two thousand years ago – she was taller of course, and her hair was slightly lighter than the near black she had had as a child. She had indeed grown prettier, but her eyes had unfortunately lost the twinkle that had brightened her face, and which used to fascinate the little Elf Prince.

Once Thranduil's eyes met hers, he knew immediately. Her gentle, yet panicked eyes were a rich dark brown, with natural flecks of gold and green scattered around the pupil. As he studied them, his eyes bearing heavily down on hers, he knew that she was most definitely Silvan. Nevertheless, something familiar was trapped in those eyes of hers - a secret, passed down through generations and the Ages. A secret which he should not know of yet did, and which caused an uneasy feeling that grew in the King's mind.

'_Do not rush yourself. She may not be the one.'_

"Father?" asked Legolas, breaking Thranduil's awed concentration.

"Child, are you of Silvan ancestry?" he asked, bringing his hand back down to his side, but not allowing his eyes let go of hers. She faltered, trying hard not to look away, but his intense watch became too much and she lowered her head in respect.

"Yes, m'Lord."

"Idril's father taught me when I was younger, you may know him," said Legolas. Idril looked up at the Prince, but Legolas was facing Thranduil.

"What is your father's name?" asked Thranduil. Idril shifted her gaze from Legolas to Thranduil.

"My father is Mablung; he worked for you as a private tutor for Legolas and myself. He taught us for over two hundred years, my Lord."

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and smiled.

"Ahh, of course, Mablung. I remember him. So he was your father?" asked Thranduil listlessly, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Yes, your Highness."

"Then you are Idril Súlorn. How are you, my child? How is your father?" asked Thranduil, his suspicions confirmed and the pieces instantly together, not that he liked the now complete puzzle.

"I have been fine King Thranduil, and my father is doing well," replied Idril.

"Oh, good. Well, we must be going. Until next we meet, dear Idril Súlorn," said Thranduil, walked back to his table. Halfway there, he turned around back at Legolas and Idril.

"Legolas, come, follow me."

Legolas turned to Idril, gently took her hand with his own, and she looked up at him, meeting his bold blue eyes with her warm browns. He opened his mouth slightly in awe when he noticed their remarkable colour, and hesitated before kissing her hand politely, not taking his eyes off hers for a second.

"I will make sure to see you again, Idril," farewelled Legolas and turned around and followed his father.

Idril lightly touched her right hand where he had kissed her, and realised that she had had more fun in that night than she'd had for a long time. Only one thing could spoil this perfect day – her mother. And who else did she see striding towards her, but Garhirel.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are very, very welcome.**

**I will definitely make sure to reply to anyone who leaves a review, as feedback is the greatest motivation and thus the reason this story exists. :)**

**Again, thank you for checking this story out. Hope to hear from you!**

_-Laura._


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Garhirel and Idril briskly walked through the Mirkwood forest, in the direction of their treehouse. Silently they moved, missing every twig and leaf, not making any sound whatsoever.

"Hurry, child. You walk too slowly," scolded Garhirel, and snatched Idril's arm.

"Ai!" cried Idril, from the extremely strong grip on her arm. Garhirel just gripped harder and starting striding more quickly.

"Be quiet. We are almost home."

Garhirel's long and elegant fingernails dug into Idril's flesh, and she inhaled sharply from the pain. Tears stung the corners of Idril's eyes, and she mentally slapped herself for giving in to the pain her mother was deliberately causing her.

At last they saw, high up in the trees, a small but clear shining golden beacon. By this time Idril's lower right arm was numb and felt completely paralysed, almost dead. She let out a quiet sigh of relief when Garhirel's pace slowed and her grip loosened at the sound of a childish shout. Feeling washed back into Idril's lower right arm.

"Father! I can see them coming, they are coming!" called Eldanén, the littlest of the Súlorn family. He jumped excitedly up and down in front of his beloved father, who just rested silently in his chair, reading.

"May I go meet them?" he asked, widening his eyes, and performing that cute expression that only very young Elves can manage.

Mablung looked up from his parchment, nodded slowly and smiled.

"Thank you father!" cried Eldanén, and swung his arms around Mablung. Mablung frailly returned the hug and laughed.

"Away with you then," he smiled. Eldanén rushed off to the door, and started climbing down the ladder with incredible ease.

"Idril!" screamed Eldanén, and Idril grinned. The little Elf leaped into Idril's waiting arms and giggled when he was spun around.

"Well hello there my little Tasarhin!" cried Idril, using the nickname she had given him when he was born only 10 short years ago. Garhirel angrily turned to her daughter who was unmercifully tickling Eldanén, and whom still had his arms wrapped lovingly around his big sister.

"Why do you not call him by his real name? Tasarhin - only a fool could dream up that name," scoffed Garhirel. Idril sighed sadly, stopped tickling her little brother and pushed back a strand of hair that fell carelessly over his face. Eldanén just stared straight into her eyes.

"I love my name," he said, truth shining in his eyes. Idril grinned briefly.

"Thank you Tasarhin," she replied, deliberately using his nickname. Eldanén grinned and snuggled up into her warm neck. Garhirel rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. She climbed up the strong but beautiful ladder to their home, impatiently pushing away any weak tree branches in her way, and occasionally snapping one off with a brutal sweep of her arm.

"What sorts of things did you do tonight?" asked Eldanén. Idril carried him away from the treehouse, and brought him about sixty yards, through a patch of thick forest that straddled the treehouse. She walked until they reached the willow tree by the water, and she placed Eldanén gently down on the ground, and then sat down against the tree. Eldanén plopped himself in her lap and looked at her in awe.

"Did you dance with anyone special?" he asked, a childish twinkle in his eye.

"Well… I met the Prince," she said. Excitement spread across Eldanén's face like wild fire and his light blue eyes, much like Garhirel's, lit up.

"Did you dance with him? What did he say? Did you talk to him? Are you going to get married?" he asked hurriedly. The last question took Idril by surprise.

"Married? And leave you? I think not!" exclaimed Idril kindly and stroked Eldanén's thick, longish, light brown hair. Eldanén giggled childishly, and picked up a branch from the willow tree that was lying on the ground.

"I wish I was like you, Idril." Eldanén said, staring at the branch. Idril's brow furrowed.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to be Eldanén, I want to be Tasarhin," replied Eldanén, and stared at his adored sister. Idril cocked her head.

_Garhirel gracefully stepped through the front door of her home, proudly showing her family the new baby._

"_Since you were allowed to raise Idril in the manner of Tree Elves, this one shall be raised in the manner in which I wish," stated Garhirel plainly. Idril stared in shock at her mother - Garhirel was taking terrible advantage of her sick husband._

"_Eldanén…" cooed Garhirel, and Idril's mouth dropped. She could not believe it – her mother was naming Mablung's son 'Water Elf'. Both women knew that Mablung was a true Forest Elf, and he would have raised his son to become like one of his and Idril's kind, had he been well. _

_Garhirel's blonde hair fell onto her son's body and he opened his eyes – they were blue, just like his mothers. She took the blanket off his head to reveal blonde hair, slightly browner than Garhirel's but blonde all the same. This was when Idril realised that Eldanén was going to grow up a lot like his mother, and he would become a Water Elf – at that moment, not one trace of Mablung could be seen in the infant._

"_Could I please hold him, mother?" she asked quietly. Garhirel hesitantly handed Idril the baby and then walked off into her luxurious bedroom. Mablung slowly leaned over in his chair, and the minute his eyes met his son's, his face fell. Idril looked at her dismayed father, and then stroked the cheek of her new little brother._

"_Tasarhin…" she cooed. Mablung looked at her and smiled thankfully. Idril studied Eldanén's eyes, and saw the tiniest spark of green appear in amongst the light blue. Tasarhin, the Willow Child._

"You should be proud that you are Eldanén. To be an Elf of Water is a great honour," said Idril.

"But I want to be like you and father. I want to talk to the trees," replied Eldanén sadly, and inspected the willow branch. Idril watched him for a while, as he caressed the leaves and picked off any clumps of dirt attached to the wood.

"Look at me Tasarhin," commanded Idril softly, and Eldanén brought his eyes up to meet hers. The sparkle of green was still evident, and his light brown hair had definitely grown darker in the last 10 years – maybe it was possible that he had some of Mablung Súlorn hidden somewhere deep inside him.

"You really want to learn how to communicate with the trees?" she asked.

"Could you teach me?" asked Eldanén, hope glimmering in his eyes.

"I can try," she replied, a little uncertainly. "But it is late and past your bedtime, Tasarhin. Come on." Idril stood up, brushed the dirt off her dress and picked up Eldanén. He tiredly wrapped his arms around Idril's neck and yawned loudly.

"Thank you 'Dril, I love you," he said wearily, and rested his head against Idril's shoulder. Idril stroked his hair and sang him an old elvish lullaby as they walked a long distance, until soon the treehouse was standing before them. She elegantly climbed up the ladder with one hand, the other gently playing with her beloved little brother's hair, as he hung over her shoulder.

"_Ai!"_

_Idril stared at her finger. A drop of blood was seeping from a tiny prick on her thumb. She crossed to the nearby stream and quickly dipped her hand into it, then continued to crop the thornbush. Whenever she moved, the thorns would unyieldingly attach themselves to her skin and dress, and cause her sharp stabs of pain._

"_Idril!"_

_She spun around and found her father making his way down the dirt track, distress written all across his face._

"_Idril, what do you think you are doing?"_

_She ignored him, turned back to the bush, and continued to prune the branches._

"_Ah!" she screamed, as a stray branch slashed across her cheek. Mablung ran over to her, cupped her chin and inspected the gash._

"_What were you doing? How are… why are you here?" he asked furiously. Idril stared at her father for some time, the numbness of her wound disappearing and the sting of the thorn slowly swelling. She could feel her tears forming in the corners of her eyes so she looked down at the ground, willing them to go away. However, when she started shaking, her father softened, pulled her close to him and held her tightly. She wrapped her injured arms around his body desperately and let her guard down, crying hysterically. _

_Mablung stormed into the treehouse, Idril hot on his tail, her hand desperately clutching her father's._

"_Garhirel!" he yelled. Garhirel trotted into the front room, her eyebrows raised in question._

"_Would you care to tell me why our daughter looks like this?" he asked, and pulled Idril around next to him. Garhirel smirked at Idril's battered body._

"_Silly child. Look at what you have done to yourself."_

"_This is not of her doing, and you know that," replied Mablung through clenched teeth. Garhirel froze._

"_Why did you send her out to trim the thornbush? Why? What has she done this time?"_

_Garhirel slowly walked towards Mablung._

"_I'll tell you why. She was there again - she was out there, in the woods, running off again to communicate with some non-living trees who can't talk," explained Garhirel bitterly._

"_I wasn't running off…"_

"_Quiet! Mablung, I try to be a good mother to her – I feed her and clothe her, and she rewards me by running away from home," continued Garhirel, and started sobbing. Idril looked up at her father, who was visibly yielding to Garhirel's tears._

"_She makes me feel like a… a bad mother," she concluded, and burst into tears. Mablung hushed her, took her into a hug, and rocked the two of them from side to side._

"_You are not a bad mother, my lovely. Now hush," soothed Mablung. Rage surged through Idril's body, instantly numbing the pain from her wounds._

"_You struck me! You beat me because I take after father, because I am not like you - because I like to talk to trees and you do not! And since I will not surrender to your abuse, you send me to torture my body by pruning thorns! You __**are**__ a bad mother, Garhirel, and I hate you," she spat, and rushed off into her room and bolted the door with a chair, before her parents could make their way in. She tiredly strode over to her bed, flopped down on it, and cried herself to sleep, hopelessly clutching a soft pillow._

As tears came to Idril's eyes, she touched an area behind her ear and felt the one scar she had – the scar that she received from her mother's beating, over two thousand years ago. She had not even reached five hundred years of age when she was struck. The other scars from the thorns had healed, with thanks to her grandmother's herbal remedies, but the one hidden by her left ear was never treated, as no one knew it existed except for Idril. She wished it to stay that way.

She took one last look out her window. A fair way south from the treehouse was the stream, and beyond that and surrounding the house, the dark, dank forest which Idril absolutely adored. Moonlight could be seen, skimming around the leaves of trees, trying desperately to allow all of its light to pass through the twisted branches, although not quite making it. A warm, gentle wind was floating through the cool Mirkwood night air, bringing with it all the memories from earlier that night. Satisfied, Idril lay her head on her pillow, closed her eyes drowsily and as she fell asleep, hoped with all of her heart that tomorrow would be as momentous as today.

* * *

The movement of the horse between Legolas' legs was sudden and occasionally harsh, but still rhythmically steady. His piercing blue eyes shot over to his father, who looked deep in thought. Thranduil's eyes had glazed over, and were vacantly staring at the rein that he held, which slid through his fingers slightly when his steed moved. He opened his mouth to speak, but when he saw Thranduil's brow furrow in grave concentration, he decided against it and focused on the leafy forest road ahead. Marching in front of him were two refined Elves; readily armed with two slender swords at each side, a quiver full of arrows and a long, expertly-crafted bow. The forests of Mirkwood were, after all, not the best place to be after nightfall.

As Legolas glanced back at the reins in his hands, his eyes fell upon his bow, softly swaying with the horse's tempo. It truly was a magnificent bow – tall, firm, and as light as a feather but still as effective as five swords. Engraved all along the perfect Mirkwood timber was a light tracing of leaves on a vine, weaving its way along and around the sturdy bow. In the indentation of the vine were minute green crystals, which had been ever so carefully lain along the groove of the plant carving. When they were encased in darkness, they were a dim green: so dark the jewels almost appeared black and sombre. While shafts of blue moonlight exposed them, they turned a glimmering white, frequently changing to a pale green - much like Thranduil's eye colour.

"Legolas."

He lazily turned his head towards his father, who was still inspecting his horse's reins. Thranduil opened and closed his mouth a few times, waggling a pointed finger occasionally.

"That Idril girl, do you remember her?" he asked, motioning back towards the clearing casually with his thumb.

"Of course."

"Do you remember her father?"

Legolas furrowed his brow and focused his vision on the road ahead. He thought long and hard, trying to recollect his life from over two thousand years ago…

All of a sudden, a little Elf child burst onto the road in front of him. He had blonde hair, and was carrying a bow twice his size. Legolas watched him curiously; none of the other Elves seemed to notice that the child was there.

"Legolas! Wait for me!" cried a young, feminine voice from the same spot where the little Elf-boy had come from. Legolas studied the child thoroughly, but it just dropped the bow onto a rock nearby and sat on the ground next to it. He examined his surroundings, tilting his head back at a 90-degree angle just to see the tops of the trees. When he brought his head back down, he caught Legolas' eye and gave him a small smile. Legolas glanced at the bow that settled uncomfortably on the smooth, round rock, and then back at the youngster, who was still locking his blue eyes with Legolas'.

That's when it hit him – the young lad was him.

Before he could speak, a young girl came rushing out of the bush on the side of the road.

"Legolas!" she whinged, breathing heavily. "You run too quickly! Next time… Legolas, are you listening to me?"

She followed his gaze and met Legolas' eyes. As she started cautiously walking towards him, he noticed her clothes. A pretty flower tiara was upon her thick brown hair – it had clearly been made by a child as it was messy, and the flowers had been picked recently. She was wearing a simple, but charming, green dress, which had a willow tree stitched onto the fabric at the front. She had no shoes, but had a small, almost invisible, silver chain wrapped twice around her ankle. She stood next to Legolas' horse, and extended her hand to touch his smart silver tunic. However, a cough behind her forced her to withdraw her arm abruptly, and she spun around.

"Uh oh…" she said quietly, and lowered her head.

"'Uh oh' indeed," smiled a tall man. "Legolas, bring the bow. Your father is looking for it."

The small Elf stood from his position on the ground, and picked up the bow, but not without some difficulty. He dragged it along the ground, walking slowly towards the tall, lithe, brunette man.

"Hurry, child. The more time taken, the worse the punishment."

"It is heavy, Mablung," groaned Legolas, lifting up the bow for Mablung to take, his small muscles straining.

"Father, I am sorry," the little elleth said quietly.

"Hush, Idril. We must hurry back if you want to escape punishment from the King."

Idril! Legolas wanted to kick himself for not recognising her before, but now that Mablung had unknowingly - or was it purposefully? - told him who she was, there was no mistaking that it was most definitely the young Idril that he had once adored as a child.

"However, do not think that you are free of punishment. You will still have me to deal with," explained Mablung, taking the bow from Legolas, who then proceeded to drop down to the ground in a dramatic display of exhaustion.

"And remember, you will acquire this bow on your twentieth birthday. Do not attempt to get it before then ever again," he continued, shaking the bow at the panting Legolas with ease.

"Sorry," apologised Legolas. Mablung looked at the adult Legolas, still speechless on his horse, gave him a polite bow, and went about making his way through the bushland, back in the direction from which he came.

The two children watched him go, and then simultaneously glanced back at the Legolas. Idril began walking towards him again, but stopped when the 10-year-old Legolas grabbed her hand. She looked back at him in confusion, and he shook his head lightly.

"Prince Legolas! Idril!" Mablung called loudly. The children looked quickly in the direction of their tutor's voice, gave one last look at the dumbfounded Legolas, and then ran off into the bush, Legolas leading the way holding Idril's hand.

"Legolas?"

Elves and horses came back clearly to his vision again, moving their lithe frames just as they had been doing before.

"Yes father?" asked Legolas, snapping his head around to face his father. As he did so, his eyes fell on the path into the bush, and he could have sworn he heard children giggling.

He looked down at his swaying bow, attached to his horse. He remembered the day he received it – his twentieth birthday. He narrowed his eyes to observe the bow more closely, and could just make out the thin scratches from when it was dragged across the ground as a child. Legolas remembered portions of that day. He and Idril had decided to have some fun and steal the most prized bow in Mirkwood, but to do so they had to climb down the vines on the side of the castle to get outside without being noticed. Idril was sure that Legolas could not hit Arda's largest _Valarauko_, he wanted to prove her wrong, and they ran away to the forest so that Legolas could show off. They were discovered by Mablung, who had then taken them back to the castle so that he could 'find' the bow and give it back to Thranduil.

"Oh, Mablung. I remember him slightly. Yet not a lot, I'm afraid," replied Legolas. Thranduil nodded his head.

"Quickly!" he cried to the Elves ahead. "It is getting late indeed, and I wish to get home as swiftly as is possible."

The Elves strode a little faster, and those on horses lightly kicked them with their heels. The horses jerked forwards and very slowly trotted alongside the marching Elves. For the remainder of the journey, the only sound was the horses' hooves grinding against the crinkled foliage; the only sights being the low moonlight falling over the trees, and the honeyed light of beacons gently laying open the road ahead.

* * *

**A/N: **_**Valarauko**_** is the Quenyan form of 'Balrog'. **

**The scene with Legolas and the younger versions of himself and Idril is based quite a bit upon the **_**The Return **__**of **__**the **__**King**_** scene that involved Arwen seeing her son. This has confused some readers before; at least now, I've finally written an Author's Note about it.**

**While I'm at it: thank you to reviewers! You make my day. To those of you with stories of your own: I want you to know that I do check out your works. So many of you are so talented!**

_-Laura._


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"Here, father. Drink."

Mablung frailly raised the saucer to his lips and took a weak sip of the rich stew. He had not been particularly well all the morning, and Idril had assigned herself the duty to look after him.

"So, tell me of the Prince."

She sat down next to her father on the bench, straightening her plain yellow dress and tucking a strand of stray hair behind her right ear that promptly fell back down onto her chest.

"He was… well, charming."

"As a Prince should be. Has he changed much?" asked Mablung, taking another quick sip of his broth. Idril gave a short grin.

"Yes. He is much more grave and serious, and quite handsome."

At this, Mablung smiled crookedly.

"I am sure."

"He asked about you."

Mablung shot his eyes sideways to look at Idril.

"What did you tell him?"

"I informed him that you were unwell, which was why you were not at the Festival. "

Mablung widened his eyes in alarm, and set down his bowl next to him on the bench. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a fit of dry coughing.

"Father… father?" asked Idril, wrapping her arms loosely around her father, her body following his as he slowly fell to the soft grass on his knees. The two sat there, Mablung gasping for air and shaking violently. Idril, with an arm lightly slung over Mablung's shoulders, gently stroked his hair, being careful to avoid the hair clasp at the base of his neck.

Mablung breathed deeply three times, forcing in as much air as possible, then faced his daughter.

"Excuse me. You told him that I was sick?" he asked, eyebrows furrowed, and coughed faintly.

"Yes."

"Idril, is your head empty? You know perfectly well that that is impossible! Now you have the Prince believing that I am some sort of… creature."

Idril buried her face in her lap and placed her hands on her head. She looked up quickly at her father through her hair, who was tapping his fingernails on his cane anxiously.

"I am so sorry. I forgot, I was just… my mind left, I did not know what to say, I was so nervous… It was the only excuse that came to mind…"

"It is all right, King Thranduil should know."

Idril's face calmed somewhat at this, and she lifted her body up to sit, eventually deciding to lean against a leg of the bench.

"His Highness knows? How does he- why did you tell him?"

"Of course. We have been friends for a long time, I told him. He knows of myself, and of you."

Mablung hoisted himself up next to Idril on the soft grass and ran a hand over her head, letting her hair slide easily through his fingers. He rested his hand on her shoulder and admired her face. Idril turned her head to face him, and he lightly caressed her cheek.

"I think you are beautiful, daughter."

Idril blushed a bright crimson from ear to ear and lowered her head bashfully.

"I am sorry. I am sorry for essentially ruining your life. I have taken away the opportunity to love, and I am regretful of that," said Mablung quickly, and all in one breath.

Idril lifted up her head slightly to look at him.

"I don't need lo…"

"Shush. We all do. Moreover, I have stolen it away from you, and I am so sorry. But understand this - I love your mother. Ever since I laid eyes on her, I have loved her. I never expected to have a child like you, however. I thought I was only ending one life - mine."

Idril briefly thought about asking her father **how **he fell in love with Garhirel - in her opinion, it just wasn't possible - but decided against it, determining that Mablung may find it just a little offensive. Instead, she turned her head back inwards to her lap, studying the few leaves that had fallen in.

"I want you to live a long, immortal, prosperous life. Promise you will not fall in love, Idril. Promise me."

Mablung lowered his head to try to look into Idril's eyes, to show that he was serious. She opened her eyelids and looked up at her father, whose gaze was heavily boring into her own.

"I promise father," she whispered, and pulled Mablung into a hug.

A cough behind them broke the embrace. They turned around simultaneously, but had to swiftly shield their eyes with their arms when they were met with the harsh rays of the sun burning straight into their eyes through the roof of the clearing.

"Mablung, this is our daughter's life. She may do as she wishes. **Why **is she not allowed to love? I would very much appreciate to hear your reasons," commanded Garhirel, her hands firmly placed on her hips.

Mablung slowly stood up, a hand shielding the sun, and his heavy cloak following his every move.

"I was merely protecting Idril. I am her father, and I suppose I do not wish her leaving me to get married to some Elf. You would not quite understand, beloved."

Garhirel's gaze switched testily from Mablung to Idril and back to Mablung again. Obviously thinking of nothing to retort to this, she spoke again to her husband on a different subject.

"Mablung dearest, Eldanén wishes to be read a story," she said, inspecting her fingernails.

"Why cannot you do it?" asked Mablung, switching hands to block out the stinging sun shining through the clearing ceiling. Garhirel's eyes snapped up to Mablung's.

"Because he asked for **you**," replied Garhirel adamantly. Mablung nodded his head slightly, reached for his old wooden cane, and hobbled along slowly down the stone path.

"Now, you, come with me."

Garhirel wrapped an arm around Idril's shoulders and lead her down the path, walking away from Mablung. They walked in complete silence, until they reached the stream that was situated by the all too familiar thorn bush and willow tree.

"Do you want to fall in love?" asked Garhirel, twirling Idril around to face her, but she just stared at the willow tree over her mother's shoulder. Garhirel caught her gaze, and started to turn her head around to see what her daughter was looking at.

"Yes," answered Idril quickly, and Garhirel spun her head back to face her. She lifted an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly to the right.

"Yes. I want to fall in love," confirmed Idril, before adding hastily, "and get married."

This statement took Garhirel by surprise, as she now had both eyebrows raised, and her mouth was slightly agape. The two said nothing for a while, as Garhirel studied Idril's face carefully, eyebrows furrowed, searching for any falseness. After a while, Idril pulled in her lips and started impatiently fidgeting with the end of her sleeve. Garhirel weakly shook her head out of her trance-like manner.

"Why?" she asked, moving her head closer to Idril's, a sceptical eye closely reading her daughter's face as she waited for her answer.

"To get away from you," replied Idril matter-of-factly, and stepped one pace apart from Garhirel.

Garhirel's face and body visibly relaxed.

"I see," she replied, nodding, and turned and walked back down the path towards the treehouse, obviously taking Idril's answer as acceptable.

Idril watched her go, disappearing behind the thorn bush, and the previous tenseness surrounding Idril slowly relaxed, along with her heartbeat. She looked over to the willow tree, back at the stone path, back to the tree, and sighed. She slowly made her way past the thorn bush, not wanting to get within three feet of the shrubbery ever again. This was hard, as the burbling stream was not four feet away from the harsh thorns.

She placed a gentle hand on the trunk of the huge tree, and looked up towards the branches on the very top of the willow.

"Father Willow, I am your servant and can do naught about it," said Idril to the looming tree, although so quietly that not even an Elf standing two feet away would have heard. She stared back down at her hand, which was still pressed against the ancient wood. A small smile broke out on her face and she laughed briefly.

"I don't care!"

She took her hand off the tree, turned her body around and slid down the trunk on her back, until she was sitting on the ground. She stretched out her legs in front of her, and watched the helpless leaves tumble along with the flow of the river, not trying to resist, just accepting their doom of a long, hard journey down the roaring stream.

"I do not care," she repeated to the old willow, not quite believing it, but quietly hoping that maybe the tree would.

* * *

"She said that?" asked Mablung, placing a pressed flower in the book and closing it. Eldanén watched with disappointed eyes as his favourite story, _Yávië_, was laid on the top of a dusty, high shelf.

"She did," nodded Garhirel. Mablung watched her for a while, looking for any telltale signs of untruthfulness – there were none.

"Idril said that?" he asked again.

"Yes, she did. Why do you not believe me?" asked Garhirel, getting impatient. Mablung groaned as he leaned on his cane and walked slowly into the bedroom. He straightened the bedspread slightly, patted it, and then sat down with a short grunt. Garhirel followed him into the bedroom, and stood next to him, making sure he did not fall over once he had seated himself down.

"It is just something I cannot imagine Idril saying. My little daughter wants to get married?" he asked in disbelief, looking up at Garhirel, who was towering over the top of her husband.

"Mablung, she's not your little girl any more. She has been on this earth for over two thousand years now. She can cope without the help of a mother and father. Let her go and live her own life," replied Garhirel, sitting down gently on the bed, and placing a hand on Mablung's back. "For too long we have doted over her. She needs to learn how to survive without the care of her parents."

Mablung stared at the wood floor for a while, taking in what Garhirel had just said and studying the fine timber on the bedroom floor. He then looked back up at his wife, confusion written all over his face, and shook his head.

"Doted? Care? Garhirel, you must be delirious. Ever since Idril was born, you have been anything but loving towards our daughter. Our **daughter**! She has been abused, tortured and disgraced and you think you have done a good job raising her. I am sorry, Garhirel, but you are very sadly mistaken."

Mablung weakly stood up from the bed, with the help of his cane. He nonchalantly stared down at the utterly appalled Garhirel, her mouth wide open, ready to speak, but with no words to say.

"Idril is a praiseworthy woman, and I am proud of the way she has been strong and resisted running away to live a free life. She deserves better, Garhirel, and you know it."

Still, Garhirel was speechless, and she slumped back onto the bedpost, staring at the intricate pattern on the bedspread blankly. Her eyes darted up at Mablung quickly, but when she saw the sheer fearless determination in them, she hastily diverted her vision.

"Long have I thought about the way you have treated Idril, and long have I wanted to voice my opinion on the way she **should** be treated. And, well, now… I have."

He finished his speech with a quick nod to himself, and tottered out of the bedroom, and back to the patiently waiting Eldanén. He reached up and took the book back down from the shelf as Eldanén moved to his spot on the floor, and then he sat down with a grunt on the soft green velvet. Garhirel was not seen for the rest of the day; nor was Idril.

* * *

Legolas looked up at his father, who was engrossed in sorting through the pile of parchments. He carefully placed a strip of silk into his place in the book he was reading, _Yávië_, and set it down on the enormous mahogany table in front of him. He let out a contended sigh as he sunk back into the soft furniture, resting his hands on the ends of the armchair. He watched his father work for a few more minutes, his eyes following the movement of the paper between his father's aged, yet unwrinkled hands.

"Do you want something?" asked Thranduil, still focusing on the parchments.

"No," replied Legolas innocently.

"Are you sure of that?"

"…No."

Thranduil tucked the papers he was reading into a large book, and set it neatly on the corner of the table. He folded his arms across the desk and leaned forward, gesturing for Legolas to proceed with an impatient nod of his head.

"Yesterday night, Idril Súlorn told me that her father was ill. Ill - an **Elf**?"

Thranduil sighed, and rose from his chair, standing tall and quite majestically for a few seconds. He glanced across at Legolas, walked over to him, and nestled himself down into an armchair next to his son's. He tapped the ends of the chair with his fingers nervously, and fidgeted his body around awkwardly in the chair, in an attempt to become a little more comfortable. His eyes fell upon the book Legolas had been reading, which lay jaggedly on the table in front of the two.

"Hm. _Yávië_."

Thranduil picked up the book and stared at the leather cover, gently stroking the golden silk embroidery encompassing the front.

"Your mother used to read this to you every night when you were a child. It was your favourite book."

Legolas smiled and took the book tenderly from his father's hands, flipping the bookmark about between his fingers.

"It still is my favourite book. It's absolutely fascinating – one of the greatest love stories ever told, in my opinion."

He balanced it on the thick arm of his chair and looked up at his father.

"Indeed it is. It is also where you shall find your answers."

Thranduil smirked at his completely confused son and patted the book gently, careful not to make it fall.

"My answers?" asked Legolas, shaking his head lightly in ridicule.

"The answers that you will need to have - for the questions that will inevitably come later on in life. But do not worry about that just yet," replied Thranduil, and placed a loving hand on his son's arm in a fatherly fashion.

"Erm… your Highness?"

The two Royals looked up concurrently at the attractive young servant girl, standing quietly at the doorframe.

"King Thranduil, my Lord, you are needed in the Garden."

"Whatever for?"

Lairë glanced down at her entwined fingers nervously.

"There is a, uh, Finwë Telemnar who wishes to speak to you about his daughter… and your son."

"That's the third one today! Oh, Legolas, please, come down and meet this one as well."

"No… tell her father that I am busy at the moment, or that I am away or just unavailable. I'm not going to fall in love with, let alone marry, Finwë's daughter, contrary to what either of them may believe."

Thranduil sighed, and gazed across at his son. However, he could see in Legolas' eyes that he was not going to yield to any of his father's charm or persistent pleading. Thranduil stood up from his chair, and stared down at Legolas, took a sideways glance at Lairë and then faced his son again.

"All right. Stay here Legolas, I will go talk to them."

"Thank you father."

Thranduil pushed past Lairë, causing her to stumble clumsily out of the Library doorway and into the corridor.

"Lairë, come here," said Legolas, motioning for her to step forward with a quick wave of his hand. She cautiously stepped back inside the Library, her hands held behind her back.

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Closer. You do not have to be afraid of me," smiled Legolas, and stood from his chair.

Lairë timidly made her way over to the Prince, brushing invisible specks of dirt off her simple dress and quickly brushing back her hair so that it lay on her back.

"How old are you?" asked Legolas, bending down slightly to see eye-to-eye with the bashful servant.

"Prince Legolas, I am just over a thousand years old, your Highness."

"Then do you know of a Mablung Súlorn?"

Lairë's brow furrowed, and she turned her head to stare out the large window.

"I do not think so, Prince Legolas."

Legolas dropped his head and sighed. He looked back up at Lairë, who was patiently waiting for any more questions or orders from her adored Prince.

"Lairë, have you read the book _Yávië_?"

Lairë's face lit up as she smiled, and she nodded vigorously.

"Indeed I have! It is a beautiful story… full of love, adventure and danger. One of my favourite stories in all of Mirkwood! … My Lord."

Legolas smirked, and gently patted the servant's arm.

"It is one of my favourites also. Thank you, Lairë. You can go back to work now."

Lairë curtsied hurriedly; lifting her dress and allowing her beautiful golden, slightly red, hair fall down in front of her face, shielding it.

"M'Lord, yes, m'Lord."

Legolas watched her scamper out of the door and down the corridor, in the direction of the kitchen. He spun around and eyed the book lying innocently on the arm of the chair. He walked slowly towards it, almost afraid of it and its so-called 'answers'. Now centimetres away from it, he touched the red silk bookmark and, stroking it, opened the book to where he was the last reading.

'_Pen-vain a lend. Nin a lalaith. Meleth, avofaro an han; as telitha allen. Hebo tirith, a no i lass cuil lín ú-firitha…'_

Legolas read over these few sentences several times, trying to make sense of them. However, even after rearranging them in his mind, he had no concept of what his father had meant.

"_My answers? __**What**__ was father talking about?"_ he thought to himself and, closing the book quickly, slotted it back into its rightful place on the old wooden bookshelf. The silk embroidery on the binder flashed a dazzling gold when the sunlight from the large window fell swiftly upon it, and so bright was the glare, that Legolas had to turn quickly to avoid it hurting his eyes too much. With his eyes half-closed, he gave the book one last look, and made his way out of the antique Library.

* * *

**A/N: The Elvish phrase will be translated in a later chapter.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!**

_-Laura._


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Lairë, send a messenger to summon Mablung and Idril Súlorn to the castle. And now."

"Yes, Prince Legolas, right away." The young girl curtsied hastily, and trotted off down the Hall.

"Mablung?" asked a surprised voice behind Legolas.

"Do you remember him?"

Queen Irethel chuckled briefly, and folded her hands neatly in front of her.

"Indeed I do. He was your tutor, was he not?"

Legolas nodded, a half smile sliding onto his face. A young servant walked up to the two, presenting two different coloured fabrics to the Queen. Irethel placed a gentle finger to her lips in thought, and studied the two fine silks – one, a brilliant silver with fluctuating blue lines sprawled across it; the other, a bright gold with a giant green rose in the middle. Hovering a hand over the two alternatively, she finally set it down lightly on the silver silk and smiled at the youngster. With a quick bow to Irethel, and then to Legolas, he turned on his toes and made his way out of the Hall.

"Something I shall bet you could not even fathom is that I almost chose to have Mablung as a suitor over your father," commented Irethel, still looking in the direction of the servant boy.

"Over father?" asked Legolas, staring in deep surprise at his mother, and ignoring Lairë gently coughing next to him. Irethel turned her head leisurely towards Legolas, and in doing so noticed the meek lass, bouncing on her toes, trying to score the Prince's attention.

"I think someone wants you, my dear," she said, gesturing with her hand to Lairë.

"What… yes?" asked Legolas a little impatiently, and spun around to face Lairë, tapping his fingers on his pant leg.

"I, uh, I am unable to send a messenger, your Highness."

"**What**? Why not?" challenged Legolas, flailing his arms wildly and in doing so, almost whacking the poor girl.

"Well Sire, King Thranduil has forbidden it," replied Lairë, backing away slowly from the uneasy Prince, and ending up four feet away from him. Legolas opened his mouth wide in disbelief, and closed them when he slapped his hands together.

"Did he explain why?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"No Prince Legolas."

By now, Lairë was feebly shaking – in particular, her hands that, although hidden behind her back, were causing her arms to tremble evidently. Watching the frightened girl with pity, he sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

"I apologise, Lairë."

"Go back to your duties," ordered Irethel. Lairë hesitated, still eyeing the Prince, but left when Irethel coughed obviously and nodded her head towards the kitchen.

"Now, tell me what that was about."

"Nothing. It was nothing, mother. I do not know what came over me. I'm sorry."

Irethel raised her eyebrows, but left the issue alone and strolled out of the Hall, leaving Legolas to stand solitarily and contemplate his reaction. Once she was out of sight, he leaned heavily against a large grey marble pillar, its surface crossed with heavy traces of black and white. He forced his eyes closed, and could still see distinct pictures of the Festival last night in his head.

The dim, warm golden glow of hundreds of courtly green lanterns dwindling across the grass, only just lightly caressing the tops of the blades.

The icy silver light of the moon delicately sitting upon the green leaves of the trees, turning their colour to a soft grey-blue.

The beautiful Elvish music swinging in perfect tempo with the numerous Elves, who, even those not of noble stature, looked even more magnificent than they ever had: musicians, blacksmiths, Lady Alassea, servants of the Royal family, Idril…

He snapped open his eyes, almost expecting to be in the forest clearing at the Festival. Instead he faced a high wall, littered with blue and white velvet drapes, across the room from him, which quietly disappeared into a white ceiling. He blinked a few times, forcing himself out of his trance-like state, and with a contented sigh, slowly made his way down the grand Hall.

* * *

'_Meleth, avofaro an han; as telitha allen. Hebo tirith, a no i lass cuil lín ú-firitha.'_

Idril's head felt hollow as these words swum around in her mind, much alike to a small bird's feather entangled in the crisp autumn breeze. Her eyelids were sealed firmly shut; she could see nothing, not even the dimness of the hidden sunlight. She could hear nothing. Not the dull groan of elderly branches swaying calmly in the wind; not the shrill chirp of birds preparing for another chilly autumn evening; not the light burbling of the water easily sliding through the two mossy banks of the stream.

All that was available to remind her that she was not yet dead, was the tree's spirit almost completely taking over her; surging through her body, her mind, her heart, her soul. It would take but a few moments longer, and she would be at one with the Old Willow – the only one who she could tell everything to and could trust to keep her secrets.

A rush of deep green mingled with maroon raced across Idril's eyes, clouding them, as ancient Elvish ran in and out of her ears, and started to lull her into slight unconsciousness. She could feel the rhythm of her breath slowly begin to cease; and although she knew it was but a temporary phase, it was always incredibly daunting every time she slowed her breath to a stop. Deep in her heart, she could feel not only her own heartbeat, but also the Old Willow – complete with its physical and mental feelings.

"_Yávië…"_

Only a few moments longer…

Red and green suddenly vanished from her eyes in an abrupt white flash, and all that was before her was solid black darkness. As she gasped impatiently and desperately for precious air, she could sense the Willow's spirit slowly withdrawing from her body, and could faintly hear a screech. As she blinked a few times, trying to clear the fogginess from her eyes, she cursed in Elvish under her breath. Idril could once again feel her chest rising and falling with her sharp gasps, and could hear the rapid rhythm of her breath. She attempted to calm her unsettled body, inhaling deeply, and setting her head heavily against the tree. She drew in one long breath, held it for a while and enjoyed the silence. However, silence was not apparent – in amongst the wind, the birds and the sedate stream was the sound of another's heavy breath.

She flicked open her eyes, but her vision was still irritatingly cloudy, as if she had just awoken from a deep slumber. She blinked again, and saw the bleary figure of another being, slowly, cautiously, rising from the ground. Idril rubbed her eyes, and when they opened, she saw nothing other than a child - not a small child, as she looked around thirteen years of age - backing away cautiously.

"Wha… who are you?" asked Idril, standing up rather clumsily and brushing the dirt off the back of her dress. The child – a female, as it turned out – stared in absolute terror at Idril, then crouched to the ground, not wanting to take her eyes off Idril for a second, and groped around the forest floor for a stick or branch. When her hand finally rested on one, she grabbed it, rose slowly, and clutched the branch in front of her defensively. Idril just held out a gentle hand out in front of her, and smiled briefly.

"I am not going to harm you."

The young girl did not move a muscle, so Idril took one small step towards her. However, this only caused the child to panic, drop the branch, and take off down the forest path.

"Stop!" cried Idril, and raced after her. As she swiftly made her way through the all too familiar winding path, she could hear the loud, blundering footsteps of the girl not far ahead. As Idril turned a sharp left, she could see the girl struggling and stumbling in front of her. She quickly looked behind in terror at Idril, but in doing so, her right foot lodged securely into a foot-long fallen log, and she collapsed to the ground. This was Idril's chance: she sped up her pace to reach the girl, stooped down and quickly grabbed the young girl's arm before she could move.

Panting, Idril sat down next to the girl, who was lying flat on her stomach, and moving only her shoulders when she gasped heavily. Realising that her grip on the child was much too strong, and knowing all to well just how painful an extremely firm hold on soft flesh can be, she relaxed her fingers: enough to keep the girl still, but not to cause any harm.

Idril glanced down at the completely motionless girl, and indeed, she would have believed that the child had slid into unconsciousness if it were not for the sound of her desperate gasping.

"Are you going to run off again?" asked Idril firmly. The girl remained silent.

"We cannot linger like this for the rest of our days. Tell me your name."

Still, the child did not move. Noticing this, Idril lightly released her grip on the girl. She quickly shot her hand back to the lass when she began to lift herself off the ground in impatient haste.

"Please. I swear it, I am not going to hurt you," said Idril. The girl gradually turned her head on its side to face Idril, and then rested her cheek on the ground. Her face was almost completely covered in dirt: fresh earth from when she had taken her fall just moments ago, and dry, cracked dirt that seemed as if it had been there for days and looked like a natural part of her face.

Lined along her back, one from each side of her head, were two incredibly thick, dirty blonde plaits that reached past her elbows. The stringy, rough ends were tied together tightly in black leather bands, that looked as if they had once been tied in bows. The plaits were lying on the child's clothing – a profoundly plain, brown tunic that almost resembled an old potato sack. It had long sleeves with ripped ends, which stretched down to her knuckles.

Idril's eyes were drawn to a large ring on the child's middle finger. It was half-covered by an end of the dress sleeve, but still visible. Oval-shaped, it reached halfway along the girl's finger, and was coal black, with but four tiny pearls placed around it at the compass points.

Idril brought her eyes to meet the child's. She was staring straight back at her, with faded, and somewhat cold, grey eyes that almost seemed too big for her face. Long brown eyelashes adorned them as she stared, unblinking, at this strange Elf.

"My name is Idril."

A small frown crossed the smooth brow of the girl. Idril cocked her head to the side, studying the child's face more closely.

"You are not of Elven race?" she asked, using Westron for the first time in the presence of the girl. It was not often that strangers other than Elves ever crossed Idril's path - thus use for the Westron, the Common Tongue, was limited.

The child merely pulled a bulky plait back from her ear, to reveal small, human ears.

"What do you think?" she snapped. Idril curtly raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh… I am sorry, I have never seen any beings other than Elves in the forests of Mirkwood. From where do you journey?"

The girl blew a stray strand of hair from her face, but it just fell back across her eyes as she lay sideways.

"Let go of me, and I might tell you."

"How can you assure me that you won't run off?"

As she brushed away the hair with a hand, the girl gave a crooked smile.

"I've just tripped over a log, and my leg is in absolute agony. I don't think I'll be travelling anywhere today."

Idril sighed, and dubiously released her grip from the child's arm. With a thankful nod of her head, the girl lifted herself off the ground with an arm, pulled her leg in front of her body painfully, and then set the other down next to it.

"What is your name?" asked Idril, leaning against a tree and crossing her legs. The girl, inspecting her right leg's shin, looked up quickly at Idril.

"What's **your** name?" she asked testily. Idril closed her eyes in a tiny expression of exasperation.

"I am Idril. Let me see your leg."

Idril leaned in to get a closer view of the girl's calf, but when she moved her hands towards it, the child slapped her hand.

"You stay away from that."

Idril smirked. She felt like a child again, being punished for acting in a displeasing manner.

"I only want to help you."

"Maybe I don't want your help."

"I do not see how you are going to get anywhere with that leg. From where I am sitting here, it seems as though you will not be travelling far for a long while - your leg looks broken."

"You don't know that for sure. I can manage on my own."

Idril grinned as she watched the young child struggle to her feet, grimacing in pain the entire time. She took one step forward on her good left leg, then another on her right leg and fell promptly back down to the ground. Idril stifled a snigger as she stood up and strolled over to the groaning girl. She stood, towering over the child, who was painfully caressing her shin. After spotting Idril's silhouette over her leg, she looked up and stuck out a hand.

"Are you going to help me or what?"

* * *

The girl was incredibly light, Idril found, as she carried her through the forest. Her arms were wrapped around Idril's neck, and she leaned against Idril's arm, which was draped around her back.

"Do you feel like speaking?" asked Idril, slowing her silent footsteps.

"I guess."

"Tell me about yourself."

The girl drew her head back to look at Idril in the eyes.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, narrowing her eyelids, and drumming her fingers against Idril's back.

"Your name, foremost."

The girl pulled in her lips and, lightly tossing her head back, stared up at the canopy of trees above her, wide-eyed.

"Can we stop walking first? My head's hurting."

Idril stopped in her tracks, and sauntered over to an old, large tree on the side of the path, its long branches falling softly above the trail. They were heavy, and one would have to watch out whilst walking, so as not to collide with a protruding bough.

She carefully set the child down on the ground, and watched her set her head against the tree trunk. Idril observed the girl fidget about until she was relatively comfortable, and then sat down in front of her on a root.

They sat in silence for some minutes, the child picking dirt off her dress, and Idril trying to catch glimpses of the brilliant ring she wore on her finger. After a while, the girl looked up at Idril from under her eyelashes.

"What were you doing?"

Idril quickly diverted her eyes from the ring to the girl.

"When?"

"When I saw you. You looked like you were almost **dead**. That's why I screamed after I tripped over you. Did I hurt you? I'm sorry."

Idril smiled warmly, and glanced down at the girl's leg. A large circle of purple, half the size of her calf, was forming around her shin and dry droplets of blood were scattered throughout it.

"I was talking to a friend, and no, I am not in any pain. You merely interrupted."

"I'm sorry about the stick thing, too. I didn't know that you were an Elf."

Idril furrowed her brow, and coughed quietly in the back of her throat. The girl looked back at her leg, grimaced, and went back to inspecting it with her small fingers.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Idril.

"My mother used to tell me, all the time, that you can always trust an Elf. Not a Dwarf – they're greedy, and will only help you if they get something out of it as well. Not Men, because not all of them have good intentions. And certainly not a Wizard, what with their magic and all."

Here, she grinned at Idril – a small, shy grin that enforced a smile out of Idril also.

"But Elves – mother was very fond of Elves. She said you could trust them with your life. And then I heard you speaking Elvish, so I figured I could trust you too. My mother's always right."

"Where do you come from, and what is your name? Tell me this, and I will not delve into any more questions until we reach home."

The girl gazed up at Idril at the word 'home', and a half-smile escaped her lips.

"Where **is** your home?" she asked, looking around her at the forest. To her, it seemed to never end.

"Let me hear your name, and I might tell you," replied Idril, repeating what the girl had used a few minutes earlier to learn Idril's name. The child just opened her mouth slightly in surprise, then closed it again, and shook some hair out of her face.

"I'm Ibby."

"Ibby? That's interesting."

"It's short for Ibigovia. It was my mother's name, but they called me Ibby so that no one would get confused."

Idril nodded in understanding, and to keep her talking.

"I come from Edoras, in Rohan. I've lived there since I was little."

"And what brought you all the way to Mirkwood?"

Ibby looked up sadly at Idril, and tears threatened to well in her eyes. She grabbed the end of one of her plaits, and started twirling her index finger around it anxiously. Her bottom lip quavered as she opened and closed her mouth habitually. Idril noticed and lowered her head to stare at the root she was perched on.

"Perhaps that will be enough talk for now."

Ibby drooped her head down and nodded bravely. Idril stood up from her spot, brushed the dirt off from the bottom of her dress, and then held out a hand to help Ibby up off the ground. Ibby gratefully took her hand, but when she began to hoist herself up, she promptly fell back down to the ground weakly. Idril quickly bent back down again and scooped the child up in her arms, but not without difficulty, as Ibby was too powerless to assist.

Ibby once again hung her arms around Idril's neck tiredly, and sighed deeply.

"You have been through a lot this day. My home is not far, you will stay there until you are well."

Ibby let out a small groan, and her wearisome head flopped on Idril's shoulder, bobbing up and down with the movement of her body as Idril walked along the path once more.

"Do you have food at home?" she asked weakly. Idril looked at the seemingly lifeless head on her shoulder.

"Of course we do. Why?" she replied, narrowly dodging an overhead branch, and Ibby let out another groan.

"I can't remember the last time I ate."

Idril opened her mouth and furrowed her brow in concern for the girl's wellbeing.

"We have plenty of food. You will be well again soon."

Idril lightly kissed the top of Ibby's head, and stroked her back. Just as she came into view of her house, its roof looking slightly out of the ordinary as it poked through the leaves of a tree, she felt Ibby's body go weak, and her arms drop to their side. Idril secured her hold on her, jerking Ibby up closer to her body. She quickened her pace, and it was not long before she heard a delighted squeal from Eldanén come from the house.

It was fast becoming dark, and the sun was already hidden by the trees, leaving but scattered strokes of dark orange and pink light as Idril's guide along the path.

"Stay with me. Do not go away Ibigovia," whispered Idril softly in Ibby's ear.

Standing up on her toes she reached for a lighted lantern, which was hanging on a tree branch, with her fingers. As she started walking, the light jerked with Idril's movements along the ground, which resulted in an ecstatic yell coming from the treehouse.

Idril, however, did not notice. She was entirely focused on the limp body hanging from her arms, swaying with the rhythm of Idril's footsteps. A flicker of orange sunlight illuminated Ibby's face. Anyone who had come across her then would have believed she was drained of life, but Idril could feel the girl's stomach rising and falling heavily against her own body, which only motivated her to reach home faster.

All thoughts of Eldanén, Legolas, Mablung and the Old Willow had disappeared. The child she held in her arms was dying, and she was going to do everything in her power to help her.

* * *

**A/N: I promise that things will start to pick up between Legolas and Idril soon! I appreciate that you're still reading.**

**Thank you, reviewers! You make me smile.**

_-Laura._


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Legolas strode furiously towards his father's bedroom. As he came close to Thranduil's door he halted, and forced out long, deep breaths to calm himself down. Talking to his father rationally would be impossible with him in this dark mood. He pulled apart the heavy purple drapes across the doorway with one fluid motion of his arms, and took a step inside.

Thranduil was standing motionless on his bedroom balcony, staring emptily out at the dark Forest in front of him. His silver hair was lying flatly on his back, and his small, leaf-laden, golden crown gleamed in the dim light. Far away in the distance, the sun was half concealed by the horizon, and only pale streams of orange sunlight were conquering the densely tree-populated forest – a typical sunset in the Mirkwood forest, officially signalling the completion of yet another day. Legolas coughed gently, and bowed his head.

"Father, may I have a word?"

Thranduil did not move a muscle, but a small grunt from his father was all Legolas needed to know that conversation at this point was acceptable.

"I have heard that any chance of seeing an old childhood friend of mine is not permitted," he stated casually, sauntering over to his father. He lightly rested his hands on the railing, mirroring his father's stance, and gazed out at the wood, still keeping a watchful eye on Thranduil in his peripheral.

"Why do you wish to see her, Legolas?"

Legolas drummed his fingers on the handcrafted wooden rail, still trying to keep his impatient fury under control.

"I suppose it may have something to do with the fact that we have not spoken, nor even seen each other, for well over two thousand years," replied Legolas matter-of-factly, and cocked his head on its side to look at his father.

"I do not want you to be associated with her."

"Oh, for…" grumbled Legolas silently, tightening his grip on the piece of oak. "**Why**?"

"Legolas, do not question me. I am your father and King of these lands, and whatever I say is final."

Legolas' knuckles begun to turn white as his grip on the rail became extremely strong. His eyes darted over to his father, who was still in the exact same disposition as he was when Legolas entered.

"Father…" he said firmly. He watched as Thranduil's eyes fell upon his son's hands and then sighed.

"You two were good friends," he stated, staring straight ahead.

"Yes."

"Do you hope to rekindle that friendship?"

"I suppose. I don't know. Possibly. I just want to talk to her again," entreated Legolas. Thranduil closed his eyes lightly and drew in a long breath.

"Tomorrow I will send for Idril to meet you. Early morning, so that when she reaches the palace, you two will have a reasonable amount of time together. If need be, she may stay a night here."

Legolas stood in silent shock.

"You mean that?" he asked, furrowing one brow.

"Why, have you changed your mind already?" replied Thranduil, his lips creasing into a slightly cheeky grin, warming up his ordinarily emotionless face.

"No, no! Not at all. It was… do not worry. Thank you," Legolas said, bowing deeply and grinning like a fool. Giving his father a grateful nod, he made his way out of the bedroom.

* * *

"******!**"

Garhirel and Idril's eyes averted hastily towards the guest bedroom. Idril shot her eyes back at Garhirel, who was staring in bewilderment down the corridor, before jogging off towards the bedroom, shaking her hands rid of the water from when washing the dishes.

She flung open the door, and saw a little figure curled up under the blankets of the bed. Eldanén was backed up against the wall, scared out of his wits. His body visibly relaxed when his eyes met Idril's.

"I didn't do a thing," he quickly declared. "I just wanted to look at her. But she screamed so loud I don't think I shall ever hear again."

Idril walked over to the bed and whisked back the blanket, revealing a large mop of dark blonde hair, completely covering the terrified girl.

"Ibby. Ibby, it is all right," she cooed, placing a hand on the girl's head in a gentle motherly fashion.

At the sound of Idril's voice, she slowly lifted her head up to look at her. Idril pushed apart the hair in Ibby's face and smiled warmly. Garhirel had managed to wash most of the dirt off her face the other night, and it was clearly visible that this girl had not eaten for many days. Her lips were dry, cracked and dehydrated, and her cheeks were sunken and completely colourless, excepting a few freckles scattered lightly across them. Her dull blonde hair was a mess – Garhirel had made the mistake of taking off the hairbands and allowing her long hair to go free, and now it seemed as if it had doubled in thickness and size.

Ibby rubbed her eyes and pulled her body to sit up.

"Where am I?" she asked, gazing in wonderment around the room. It was dim: the curtains were pulled shut, the light from outside striving to get past the barrier, and the whole room was illuminated in a strange, yet warm, golden glow. The bedroom itself was very small, but the decorations and paintings adorning it made it somehow seem less cramped. Upon the hardwood floor was a rug about half the size of the room – its colour couldn't be certain, as the yellow illumination disguised almost every item's true shade, but it was of a rectangular shape with a tree and a lake patched in at the middle.

She glanced back up at Idril, who was tugging open the curtain, and allowing the natural light of outside shine in, not that there was much.

"You are in my home, which is where you shall remain until your leg is fully healed. Where you will go then is up to you, but for now we will take proper care of you. Now, you must get some food."

Idril carefully hoisted Ibby out of the bed, making sure not to cause further harm to her badly injured leg. As she made her way out of the door, she could feel the side of her dress being tugged gently. Turning her body around slowly, she looked down and saw Eldanén staring up at her with the huge blue eyes of his.

"Idril, today can you teach me to talk to the trees?" He joined his hands behind his back, and exhibited the sweetest smile he could manage. Idril just turned on her heels and continued out the door.

"I am sorry, Eldanén, not today. Possibly later."

Eldanén's face fell – not only because of the rejection, but also because of the fact that Idril had used his actual name, which she had not done in years. He poked his head out of the door, only to see his adored – nay, worshipped - big sister sympathetically stroking the imposter's hair.

"Oh, good morning," smiled Garhirel, drying her wet hands on a piece of cloth hanging by the doorway. Ibby looked up at Idril in confusion.

"Ibby, this is my mother Garhirel," she introduced dryly. Garhirel cupped her hand underneath Ibby's chin and forced her head upwards, studying her face.

"Yes. Yes, you look much better than you did last night. I did a good job," said Garhirel, complimenting herself and nodding in self-approvement.

"Idril, set her down on the chair over there," she instructed, waving her hand in the general direction of the brown seat. Bending down ever so carefully, Idril placed Ibby softly down on the velvety chair, and sat down on the wooden stool next to her, folding her hands together neatly in her lap.

Garhirel strolled over, and set a plate down on Ibby's lap. On it was a large slice of soft bread, a delectable golden-brown chicken leg, two bright red apples and a goblet filled to the brim with the juice from some sort of fruit – Ibby really couldn't care less. Picking up the goblet in one hand and the chicken in the other, she took a long sip of the honeyed liquid, savouring its unfamiliar taste in her mouth, before opening her mouth as wide as it went and tearing a chunk out of the chicken with her teeth.

Garhirel pulled up a chair from the dining table, and gracefully perched down on it before Ibby.

"When you have finished your meal, perhaps we will discuss why and how you came to be in Mirkwood?" she inquired, tilting her head to one side to see Ibby's face.

"Or perhaps we will leave that until she is ready," suggested Idril – half in concern for Ibby's well being, and half in spite of her mother's suggestion. Garhirel straightened her back, folding her arms defensively, and crossed her ankles. She blinked a few times, and smiled at Ibby.

"Unless, of course, she is ready when she finishes her meal," she replied softly, looking at Ibby, who was eagerly ripping pieces out of the bread with her fingers. "Ibby?"

Glancing up at Idril and Garhirel staring at her expectantly, then back at the tantalising loaf she held in her fingertips, Ibby nodded briefly and went back to jamming massive pieces of bread into her mouth.

* * *

"Now make sure to be back before noon. And inform her that there is no need for any luggage whatsoever. Also if her father, Mablung, wishes to join her he may do so."

"Yessir," replied the rider, springing up onto his stallion in one fluid motion of his body. Gently caressing the horse's mane, he turned back to Legolas and patted the side of the horse's neck.

"Is that all, your Highness?"

Legolas dipped his head down in thought, clicking his fingers. Eventually, he looked back up and nodded his head once.

"Yes, I believe so. Ride swiftly."

With a kick, the snow white horse was off down the road, darting towards the blood red sunrise, the hair in its tail billowing wildly. Dashing after it devotedly was another one – a smoky grey colour, with a coal black mane and tail. Much older it was, but it still contained enough stamina to last its journey. Legolas watched them canter off together through the forest, then returned to the castle.

* * *

Tipping the goblet back over her head, Ibby let the last drops of the liquid meet her waiting tongue. Licking her lips, she set the cup down on the arm of the chair. Ibby leaned back comfortably into the back of the soft furniture and sighed contentedly.

"Thank you very much," she grinned, patting her stomach. Just at that moment Mablung hobbled into the room and, upon seeing Ibby, leaned on his cane and smiled.

"Well hello young Ibigovia," he greeted.

"Morning," she replied cheerfully, waving. A gentle, kind pat on her arm diverted her attention to Idril.

"Do you mind speaking of your journey?" asked Idril gently. Ibby gave a small grin and nodded feebly.

"I suppose I am ready."

Idril leaned forward on her stool, intent on hearing the full tale. Eldanén raced in, pulling two dining chairs in front of Ibby – one for himself, the other for his father, whom he helped to sit down. Ibby giggled at the attention, and patted the sides of the armchair with her hands.

"I'll have to start from the beginning, I guess."

She looked down at her lap and sighed deeply, urging herself to be strong.

"My mother Ibigovia, after who I am named, had connections in Mirkwood. We were travelling there – or here, rather – to meet a friend of hers, their name I am unsure of."

"Who's 'we'?" interrupted Eldanén.

"Shh," commanded Mablung, placing a frail hand on Eldanén's arm. Ibby, however, politely answered Eldanén's question.

"'We' is my family – my father, Geollyn, my mother, and myself. I don't have any other siblings."

"Lucky," mumbled Eldanén to himself, yet Idril heard. A frown crossed her brow, as she gazed at her little brother. When his eyes met hers, she gave him a small grin, though this was not returned.

"We were travelling north-east from Edoras," continued Ibby. "Although, one night whilst we were camping near the East Bight, I decided to go for a short walk through the forest. When I returned, I… I saw the shelter my parents had made – it had been completely destroyed. The fire that my father had made had gone out, and all our supplies had disappeared… the food, water, and clothing, everything, along with my parents. I called for my mother but she never answered, nor my father. I waited for them all night, but decided the best thing to do would be to find my way to my destination."

Ibby glanced around at the four sympathetic faces all focused solely on her, and smiled at Idril when their eyes connected. She coughed lightly before continuing.

"Before I left, I searched the camp for anything that would aid me on the journey. All I found was my mother's ring. That's when I knew she was dead. She never took off that ring; she always wore it everywhere. So, I took it. I'm never going to take it off either."

At this, she stroked the black ring on her middle finger, outlining the shape with her fingernail.

"I don't know exactly how long I walked. It would have been around four or five nights. I lost track of time after the third day. I lived on the juice of berries and fruits, and was about to give up all hope of finding whoever I was supposed to find. I remember walking through the forest, until I saw a huge willow tree. I walked around it, then saw you."

Idril smirked and nodded her head in recollection.

"You should have seen her!" exclaimed Ibby. "She was dead but not, if you get me."

Garhirel shut her eyes in exasperation and sighed deeply. Idril ignored her mother, and looked over at Mablung, who just smiled in understanding.

"You were pale, that's for sure, but you were sitting upright. Then I saw your eyes, and they looked strange. They were closed, but your eyelids were a light green colour which scared me a bit, so… I screamed."

"Yes. Causing me to fall out of contact with…"

Four pairs of eyes fell on Idril; two were inquisitive, one understanding and the other disapproving.

"Uh…" stammered Idril. Whatever she said, at least one in the room would be offended – her mother, if she even dared mention the tree, and her father, if she did not pay respect to the living spirit of the Old Willow.

Just at that moment, the sound of hooves was heard below. Idril immediately stood up from her stool and strode over to the door. Opening it slowly, and only a little, she peeped outside.

"Greetings," bowed an Elf below, his golden hair dropping down around his head, and then falling easily on his shoulders when he stood back up.

"I'm coming."

Idril wrapped the bottom of her dress around her legs with one arm, and helped herself climb down the ladder with the other. Halfway down, Idril leapt easily off the ladder and landed on the ground on her feet.

"I send word from Prince Legolas. He wishes that you meet him at the palace this day."

Idril frowned in uncertainty, and folded her arms in front of her.

"What, now?" she asked, looking up behind her at the treehouse, and at Eldanén's small head peeping out from over the balcony.

"It would be best, Idril. And your father, if possible."

It was only just now that Idril noticed the second horse, stamping its hoof impatiently on the mossy ground. A leaf carelessly fell from the tree above, and another followed it, traipsing down through the air. The first landed exactly on the elder horse's nose, the other descending lightly onto the messenger's shoulder. While the horse merely flicked it off with a quick sway of his nose, the Elf gave a half-smile and plucked it off his tunic.

"Autumn is here," he stated, holding the leaf up in front of him, marvelling at its colour. There was a straight line of deep green, running right down the middle, which then faded into a pale yellow, and eventually converting into a bright red trimming on the border of the leaf. Idril just smiled knowingly, and the Elf released the leaf from his grasp.

"Autumn never leaves," she replied quietly, watching the leaf tumble out of the rider's fingers and clumsily land upside-down on the ground.

"Will you come?" asked the Elf rider, stepping aside and motioning to the older horse with his arm. It rose its head up slowly from the ground, looking Idril straight in the eye, almost beckoning her to join him.

"I am sorry, I am busy this day," she replied, her eyes moving up towards the treehouse where the young Ibby, who needed her help, was sitting in a chair, unable to move without assistance. The rider bowed, his hair once again settling nicely over his pointed ears.

"Tell the Prince that I apologise. Perhaps another week."

"Yes, madam. A good day to you," farewelled the rider, hopping back up onto the splendidly white horse. A firm kick, and the horse was off down the forest path, the soot-grey one following. Idril tilted her head back to see the balcony of her home, and saw Garhirel staring daggers at her.

"That was… how could you? The Prince!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in disbelief, and pacing back inside. With a heavy sigh, Idril turned and began climbing up the ladder to the waiting Ibby.

* * *

Legolas jogged down the flight of stairs, as the messenger strolled in through the two large doors. Upon seeing the Prince, he bowed deeply.

"Idril Súlorn, my Lord, is occupied at this moment. She suggests a meeting another time."

Legolas jaw dropped, and he stared at the intricate pattern on the floor intently. Legolas, the Prince of Mirkwood, had been rejected… sighing quietly to himself, he nodded.

"I shall just have to go meet her myself, then," he concluded, smiling at the rider. "Thank you, Celoril. Leave the horses in the stables, I shall go to her tomorrow."

"Yes m'Lord," bowed Celoril, and exited through the two doors. At that moment Thranduil walked into the room, and stopped next to a huge painting on the wall.

"You truly wish to talk again. I understand the feeling," he chuckled to himself, tracing the ivy pattern on the painting. Legolas moved towards his father and cocked his head to its side.

"What do you mean by that?"

Thranduil furrowed his brow in thought, staring vacantly at the picture in front of him.

"When I desired to court your beautiful mother, all those thousands of years ago… well, it was not easy," he replied, ending his sentence with a short laugh.

"I believed that because I was a Prince, I could achieve the undivided attention of any woman I fancied. I was wrong, Legolas. Your mother constantly wanted to be with another, and I was always forgotten - even though I was royalty. I finally came to realise that power and wealth is not what a suitable female wants. And that no matter how much I flaunted my authority, I was never going to win Irethel's heart."

"What did you do?" asked Legolas, gazing intently at his father.

"Well, Legolas, in the end she chose the other Elf."

"Mablung?" he inquired.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows in surprise, and smiled.

"Yes. How did you come to know this?"

"Mother told me that she almost chose him over you."

Thranduil nodded slightly.

"Yes. Almost," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "In the end we were forced to marry. Fortunate for myself, but lamentable for your mother. In the end we fell in love, but for a long while Irethel pined for Mablung."

"Who forced you to marry?"

"Both our fathers were good friends and wished that their families be united. The only way they could think of to do this was by enforcing their children to be joined in matrimony."

"But you were not in love," said Legolas, confused.

"That does not matter, Legolas. Marriage does not need to have love as a regulation."

Here, Legolas took a step back in shock and folded his arms over his chest, studying his father's face in scepticism.

"I cannot believe this," he said, frowning. "Love is powerful. Love is what encourages two beings to marry, to unite. Without love, I do not see how a marriage can survive."

"Legolas, do not question decisions made by your forefathers. Forced marriage is allowed, it is not uncommon. Love does not matter. I am leaving now, please do not follow me," replied Thranduil, obviously annoyed.

Legolas pulled in his lips to keep him from speaking, and watched as his father made his way up the stairs. Leaning a hand against the painting, he sighed quietly, and then retired to the Library.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who leaves a review (again)! If you like the story, or can see some things that I can improve on, please let me know! I live for feedback. **

_-Laura._


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Legolas circled the magnificent beast, tenderly caressing its coarse, white hair with the back of his knuckles in gradual, but short, strokes. He gently rose up, swinging a leg swiftly over its back, and combed his fingers through the horse's mane. It had been a long while since the Elvish princeling and his horse were last coupled.

Comfort came easily to Legolas as he settled down on his horse, and Andúnë did not flinch in the slightest when he felt the weight of his master sink into his back. The two instantly fell into the sense of unity they shared in old times, when Andúnë was but a young and eager colt, and dreamt of nothing more than to please his revered master.

"It has been much too long, Andúnë."

A short kick from Legolas was all it took, and Andúnë trotted obediently out of his stable. The dark orange of the sunrise could barely be seen through the thick trees - its beautiful light only dimly igniting the moist, thick air - gesturing to all in Mirkwood that yet another day had begun.

It was neither a long nor a wearisome journey to Legolas' destination; at least that was how it seemed. Time passes swiftly when one is delighted or amused, and the ride to the Súlorn home was not in the least bit boring. Indeed, many of the beautifully dreary paths that had once passed through Mirkwood had been destroyed – by either spiders and their viscous webs, or sheer forgetfulness of the Wood Elves to tender to the path.

As Legolas reached a fork in the road, his choice of direction was immediately clear. One lead down a dry dirt path, overhung by green trees and ferns; the other, Legolas could see was blocked off further down by a fallen tree, which was now inhabited by snakes, spiders and other considerably unpleasant creatures. Large spider webs were cloaked along the line of tree trunks, and the path was rocky and harsh.

Andúnë was not a dumb animal, and quickly turned down the path on the right. As the two made their way through the forest path, Legolas soon became aware of the road's gradual widening. Slowly the Sun was rising in the East - behind Legolas - and was struggling to reach the tips of the trees, which served as quite an effective barricade between the skies and the depths of the Mirkwood forest.

When the Sun had revealed half of itself over the looming trees above, Legolas could just faintly hear the burbling of a stream ahead. Andúnë's head was lifted high; he was a horse of the Royal family and certainly looked it. At the sound of water gurgling, and a sharp call of some sort of bird, his raised ears twitched.

Soon, he had halted suddenly in his tracks, and his ears stood as high from his head as possible. Confusion crossed Legolas' brow, and he lightly kicked Andúnë, but the horse stood as still as stone. It was only then that Legolas heard it also – a soft tapping on the ground, moving steadily towards them. Legolas promptly jumped off Andúnë and, beckoning the horse to follow him with one move of his hand, stepped into the Forest brush on the side of the road. Standing still and sideways, he hid himself behind a large tree on the side of the path. Andúnë smartly moved further away into the thicket, cautious not to make too much noise.

Legolas and Andúnë stood there for some time, Andúnë occasionally leaning down and silently grabbing grass between his teeth and chewing it thoughtfully. Legolas only stood in reticence, not wishing to breathe too loudly, and ceaselessly keeping a watchful eye on the road.

The rapping on the ground became louder and clearer with every long breath Legolas inhaled.

Suddenly, a small figure burst forward into Legolas' view, skipping highly and merrily. Although Legolas was comforted by this, he dared not show himself just yet, as the tapping was still approaching. The small figure returned to Legolas' view, walking slowly past him this time and returning to where he came from. The body was clear enough to Legolas that he could now determine that it was a child – it had a lean physique, and youth danced in its eyes.

"Come on, father!" he squealed, and ran back across Legolas' vision again. Following him was an older Elf with a cane, walking silently. The only sound he made was a light tapping as he paced along the path; his cane lightly hitting the rocks carelessly scattered throughout the dirt.

His face was unaged, causing Legolas to wonder about the use of the cane that was aiding his movement along the road. Crowning his head was a dark cascade of hair that outgrew his arms, and he was clad in a simple brown tunic. His face, although not smiling, had a certain familiarity and friendliness about it, and Legolas calmed.

Straightening his stance, he stepped out onto the path from behind the tree. The older Elf did not flinch, and merely gave Legolas a small smile in greeting. The younger of the two however, jumped back in surprise and let loose a small, startled yelp.

"Good morning, Prince Legolas," greeted the elder, bowing to show his respect. Though he did not reach far, for the cane he grasped firmly in his hand proved quite a nuisance. Legolas dipped his head in return and turned towards the child, who was carefully watching his father bowing and attempting to copy.

The older Elf stood back up, and looked at Legolas. His soft grey eyes simply gleamed with wisdom and experience, and with a certain familiarity.

"Prince Legolas your Highness, allow me to introduce myself," he said, placing a hand lightly on his chest. "My name is Mablung. This is my son, Eldanén," he added, gesturing with his arm towards the child.

Legolas laughed lightly in both surprise and delight, extending both of his arms towards Mablung in a friendly manner, before dropping them back down by his sides.

"Mablung! It has been so long since our last meeting. And what a coincidence also, for I am travelling Westwards to meet yourself and Idril."

At this, Mablung's eyebrows shot up, tall and pointed in the middle of the brow.

"Oh?" he asked, clearly surprised. "Well I am honoured, my Prince – although the word 'honour' does not do this justice. Eldanén and I were just taking a short stroll through the Forest. Seeing you, m'Lord, was a bit of a shock and I sincerely beg your pardon for my son's reaction."

Again, he bowed to show his reverence and in repentance for Eldanén's outcry. Legolas watched him bow, his keen eyes following every move; in turn noticing Mablung – the **Elf **– struggling to lift himself back up to his full height. Once upright, Mablung closed his eyes softly – in frustration or weariness Legolas was unsure of – and when he noticed the Prince's fair face gazing at him, riddled with concern, he gave a weak smile which was then promptly returned.

"Mablung my friend, will you teach to me the way to your home, so I may meet with Idril?"

"Nay, I will not teach you. I will show you – I was beginning to get weary, anyway. I think it is due time that we turned back, Eldanén." He finished with a quick glance over at his son, who was dancing gaily around a large, yet still young, tree on the side of the road. Once Eldanén heard his father's words his face crumpled into a disappointed frown, but he dutifully made his way back onto the road and stood next to his father. With a shrill whistle from Legolas, Andúnë trotted onto the path, walking behind his master and halting to the left of him.

Eldanén stood saucer-eyed, his mouth agape, at the sight of the splendid animal. His flawlessly white coat, his regal stance, his bright, intelligent eyes… he did not even notice his father turn around and start walking back down the path, until Andúnë began to follow. He skipped along the road to catch up to his father whose steps, though quite short, were quick. Legolas walked beside him, tall and postured, and the perfect personification of the word 'Prince'. Before them, the road was lain open by the strained sunlight littered across the ground, and the light sound of trickling water forever present.

* * *

Idril gently tugged the ends of the knot, and stood back up to admire her work. Ibby was still situated in the brown seat, but her leg had been hoisted up onto a footstool, and the middle of her calf had a long bandage securely wrapped around it. Behind her, Garhirel had a brush and was tidying up Ibby's hair: not an easy task. She had been going at it for at least a couple of hours now and she was barely halfway through the large mass of hair, which was thicker and more tangled than it looked – if that was possible.

"Where'd your father go off to?" asked Ibby as Idril reached up, standing on her toes, to the top of the old bookshelf, brushing her hand around the shelf blindly. With a tiny jump, Idril brought her hand back down in front of her, firmly clasping a large, but thin book.

"Father is out with Eldanén. I do not suppose he will be back for a while."

"And for once you are not traipsing off with them," added Garhirel unkindly, holding out a strand of hair and tugging at it gently with the brush.

"Is that painful?" she asked, craning her neck to see Ibby, who just shook her head slightly. Idril turned the leather front casing of the book and skimmed through the first thin page. Flipping that over, she began reading the next page: this was stained yellow and light brown with age, and was extremely flimsy.

"What do you do when you're out in the forest, Idril?" asked Ibby. Idril slowly lifted her head up from the book, dragging her eyes reluctantly from the page, upward to the girl's face. Ibby's grey eyes were teeming with curiosity and confusion, and her head jerked awkwardly back and forth from the force of the brush tugging heavily against her hair.

"I go for walks and enjoy the peace, Ibby. Would you not? It is lovely."

Ibby just shrugged a shoulder slackly, and began to straighten a crease in the white dress that had been provided for her by the Súlorns.

"I don't know. It was dark and murky last time I walked through it. Not at all pleasant," she sniffed. Idril smirked and went back to focusing on the book of Healing she held in her arms.

"It is an acquired surrounding, I suppose. I have lived here for over two thousand years and have known no different."

Looking back up at Ibby briefly and smiling, she continued.

"Tell me of Edoras my dear child. I should very much like to know of your home."

She sat down lightly on a dining chair; the book still lying across her palms, her eyes still scanning the pages; then looked up at Ibby, and lifted an eyebrow in inquisition.

"It has been a long while since I lay eyes upon my homeland, and I miss it terribly," replied Ibby sadly, and shrugged her shoulders lightly. "Edoras… it is rocky, that's for sure." Here, she let loose a short, gruff laugh. "We are set atop a hill, with sweeping views of the country surrounding us. The mountains… the mountains! Beautiful they are, rising up tall and majestically, and capped with pure white snow. Mother loved the mountains."

Idril leaned forward, wanting to hear more, but it was obvious that Ibby's speech was finished. The child's eyes were fixed sadly upon her mother's ring, and she did not even acknowledge the vicious war between her hair and Garhirel's brush.

"I am sorry about your mother," remarked Idril gently, and gathered a strand of Ibby's hair and tucked it neatly behind her ear.

The door swung open, and Eldanén's small frame stood in the doorway. He marched in, rejecting the greeting smiles from Ibby and Idril.

"Mother! Mother, the Prince is here! He is here, mother!"

Garhirel immediately stood up from her chair, accidentally knocking it over and bringing it to the ground with a sudden crash. Her hands shot straight up to her hair, tidying it hurriedly, before aligning her dress perfectly with her body.

"Oh heavens, Prince Legolas?" she asked, now busy with trying to make Ibby's hair seem less of a disaster with her fingers. "Are you sure, little one?"

"Yes. Father and I saw him while we were walking, and now they are both coming up the stairs. I went up the ladder, but father and Legolas are using the stairs," he said breathlessly, and beginning to ramble.

"_Prince _Legolas, my dear," corrected Garhirel, trying to force Ibby's hair straight.

Recognising the confusion in Ibby's face, Idril leant down to Ibby's ear and explained in a whisper:

"My father cannot climb the ladder, he needs his cane. Long ago, when he was strong, he built stairs for an occasion like this. They are around the other side of the tree, and it is easier for him to enter and exit the treehouse."

She quickly glanced up at her mother, who was now busily dusting off any dirt or cobwebs with a crude cloth. Eldanén was just grinning from ear to ear, and occasionally skipping around in a small circle.

"How did he know to build the stairs?" asked Ibby, although she was completely ignored as a door was heard opening and closing down the corridor. Garhirel's head jerked up, and she stepped at a lively pace through the kitchen and then around the corner and down the corridor.

"_Your Highness! What a pleasant surprise, it is truly an honour to meet you," _was heard from the back door. Idril sighed heavily, and shut her eyes.

"You don't want to see the Prince?" asked Ibby, keeping her voice at a low tone. Holding her eyes shut, Idril smiled and shook her head softly.

"Not particularly. Not today."

"_Come in, please. I am Garhirel. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you."_

"_A pleasure to meet you also."_

"_Come in, come in, please."_

Legolas was ushered into the kitchen, Garhirel following closely.

"My daughter Idril, my son Eldanén… and this is Ibigovia," introduced Garhirel, beaming.

Idril turned her body around slowly, her face encased in aggravation. She had specifically told his messenger that she was unavailable at this time, why did he have to decide to intrude now? She had other matters to worry about, and the constant concern of how she was to act in front of Prince Legolas would only be an annoying distraction.

However, this thought soon disappeared. The realisation that the Prince of Mirkwood was standing in front of her almost became too much: her stomach performed painful somersaults, and the ability to speak vanished. Instead, she spoke through her body, curtsying deeply and bowing her head.

"Your Highness." The words instinctively flew through her lips.

"My Lord, my Prince, whatever brings you to our humble home?" asked Garhirel, smiling beautifully.

Legolas' eyes hesitantly left Idril to glance at her mother, and they were not disappointed for indeed, Garhirel was quite a beauty. Her light blue eyes, light enough even to be classed as grey or even white, were contrasted by her hair: a bright and bold gold, waves rippling throughout it and not a lock out of place. She was a tall elleth, as tall as Legolas, and her pure white dress spilled over her lithe figure perfectly, highlighting her smooth chest and attempting to exaggerate her slim hips. Her head was lightly cocked on its side, her long eyelashes blinking regularly, and her thin, prettily shaped lips were forced into a dainty smile. As spectacularly stunning as Garhirel was, Legolas could not help but focus his attention back on the quietly standing Idril.

"I have come because I wish to speak with Idril once more. I fear our chance meeting at the Festival, not three short days ago, was barely enough for Idril and myself to catch up properly. I desire to do so now, if I may."

Legolas' eyes did not leave Idril's, his exquisitely blue eyes immovable from Idril's deep browns. Eventually, much like at the Festival, Idril could not take the weight of his eyes drilling into her own, and dropped her gaze.

"Oh! Well, that is wonderful. Please go, go with our blessing. The day is still young and the woods are a beautiful place. Go!" exclaimed Garhirel. She ran over and grabbed Idril by the arm, dragging her out the front door. Once outside on the balcony she checked that no one was close enough to hear a whisper, and leaned her body forward to Idril's ear, yet not letting go of her daughter's arm for one second. She placed her mouth an inch away from Idril's ear and spoke in an undertone.

"This is our moment. Let it be known that the we have association with the Royal family. Give us such reputations so that all Elves throughout Mirkwood grant **us** respect. Disgrace me, and your life will be no better than that of a mine-dwelling Dwarf's."

Her voice was low and hushed, but that did not soften the harshness in Garhirel's voice. She pulled back from Idril and gave her a warning look so fierce, that Idril wished nothing more than to somehow be rid of Garhirel's grip and cower in the safety of her father's arms.

Legolas stepped through the doorway, causing Garhirel to release her grasp from Idril's wrist immediately. Turning on her toes lightly, she smiled innocently, interlaced her fingers across her stomach, and stepped out of the way of the ladder for the Prince to proceed.

Legolas admired the view from the balcony for a moment, enjoying the silence, the peace, and the serenity of the ancient forest that was Mirkwood. This harmony was rare in the palace, what with all of the Elves. Out here, there was no one but himself, the wind and the many trees, which spoke in soft murmurs. Looking over at Idril, who was gazing emptily at the wood floor, he smiled.

"Shall we?" he asked, causing Idril to suddenly snap back to reality.

"Uh… yes," she replied, unsurely. As she began to make her way down the ladder, she caught her mother's eye. This only made her descend with more haste. Farewelling Garhirel with a nod, Legolas followed, and he soon disappeared off the side of the balcony.

Ibby glanced up at Garhirel as she strolled into the house, looking unusually weary.

"Idril's gone?" she asked.

"Yes, yes. Out there… out with the Prince…" Garhirel murmured. She glanced up through her eyelashes at Ibby, who was still in the same position that she was in when Legolas had arrived. Her leg was still propped on the footstool; her back still sinking deeply into the back of the chair; and her hair still a calamity, lightly lying over half of her face. "Do think I was right in leaving her alone with the Prince of our lands? She does not love me – in fact, she despises me – she could very well ruin my life as I know it."

"She will do nothing of the sort," affirmed Mablung. "She is a wise girl, Garhirel. She will not shame the our family in anyway. Trust her."

"Idril didn't want to see him," pointed out Ibby, gaining the immediate attention of Garhirel, Mablung and even Eldanén, who was previously busy standing on a chair trying to reach the top ledge of the bookshelf.

"It's what she said anyway," she continued. "I don't know why."

At this, Eldanén hopped off the chair and shoved it back under the table, surprisingly powerfully for a boy who had only seen ten winters. He stared down at it for a while, breathing heavily.

"Perhaps it is because she is much too busy with other things," he replied in dismay, and walked sadly down the corridor and into his bedroom, closing the door quietly.

"Eldanén, little one, what is the matter?" cried Garhirel, striding down the corridor after her son. Mablung turned towards Ibby. She gave him a small smile from underneath her hair, and he walked over to her, sitting down slowly on a chair.

"I beg you, my dear Ibigovia, tell me more of your dear homeland."

Ibby wriggled her body around in the chair in excitement and grinned.

"All right."

* * *

**A/N: Things are happening… and a lot more has yet to come.**

**Thanks to all reviewing and reading - you're my inspiration.**

**There will not be any Author's Notes for another couple of chapters, when I can actually comment on things. In the meantime, though, reviews (sweet and/or constructive) are very much appreciated!**

_-Laura._


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Lanky, dark green trees ran along the path side in regularity, bending over the track. The only radiance being able to reach through from the sky was a thin, strained light that struggled to slip past the leaves of the trees, which were dangling lazily overhead. If one were to look upward, all that would greet them were bowed tree branches with large green leaves that were protruding from slender twigs, a dim glow leaking from behind them, the only evidence that the sun was indeed choosing to shine that day. The relatively wide dirt track underneath the two Elves' feet was well worn, and turned smoothly at random intervals.

The forest had a condensed feel to it: the air was muggy and damp, yet the weightless breeze that wound through the trees brought about comfortableness. There was no sound, save for the occasional whisper of the leaves when they gently collided with one another in the wind.

Legolas quickly rummaged through his mind, trying in vain to imagine some sort of conversation starter. The Elf walking beside him had not said a word the entire journey and they must have been moving for at least a half-hour now. Slipping his eyes to the right to see Idril, he noticed that the expression on her face showed that she did not particularly wish to undergo a conversation with him. Her face was a complex mixture of boredom, aggravation, weariness and slight flashes of panic, and she had not looked at him since they had set out.

"Your mother seems nice," he stated, hoping that this would somehow bring about an interesting response.

"Uh…yes. Yes she is, your Highness."

Legolas forgot his quest for conversation, closed his eyes lightly in slight irritation and halted, which caused Idril to stop in her tracks also and stare with curiosity at the Prince.

"There is no one around but you and I. You need not address me formally. Two thousand years ago I was but 'Legolas' to you; I should hope this still applies."

They began walking again, and Idril said nothing, only glancing over at Legolas' face. It was focused ahead and solemn, yet his eyes were shining – even the dim morning light of the forest did not erase the twinkle in his eye. Whether it was of cheekiness, knowledge, happiness or a combination of the three, Idril did not have time to find out. Legolas had turned his head the other way, to the trees on the left side of the path, and was now walking straight towards them. Idril followed, intrigued as to what had attracted Legolas' attention.

He lay his hand softly on the trunk of a tree, and then let it trace its way down the bark. He turned towards Idril, his lips slightly separated.

"What was it that your father used to teach us always - about the trees, and their voices?" he asked softly, wonder and fascination in his speech, which caused Idril to smile.

"He is still teaching me. He reminds me of it regularly," she replied, a hint of light-heartedness in her remark. "In a forest, everything has its own voice and can hear us. If we only had time and patience to listen, we would hear them all."

"Ah yes. I am afraid I do not have the time nor, and I wholly admit to it, the patience to hear those voices these days. One day I will, though. One day I will walk away from the palace, walk far away, and just listen to what the trees have to say," declared Legolas, ending his speech with a nod towards the birch tree in front of him, signifying only to himself that it was a promise.

He closed his eyes dreamily, and breathed deeply for a moment. Opening his eyes, he looked over to Idril. Smiling, he lowered his eyes bashfully and stepped off the foliage of the forest ground, and onto the road again where the two continued their walk.

"Your father – does he still teach forest lore?"

"Not to any individual outside of family. He…" Here she paused before continuing slowly and carefully. "He believes that there are more important matters to tend to at this moment. The raising of his son, as an example."

Legolas murmured an 'mm' in perception. Quickly after, however, he inclined his brow in confusion and opened his mouth slightly, jiggling lazily a pointed finger.

"And the cane of his – what of that?"

Idril's mind raced through answers, before finally settling on a suitable one.

"His cane, my Lord, is due to an injury he acquired a while back… please do not speak more of this. It is quite an intimate matter."

"Oh. Yes, yes, of course."

Silence gently fell between the two as they continued their walk. They said no more for what seemed like an age, until at last Idril decided to speak up and curb the silence.

"I told your messenger that I was unavailable this week, your Highness. Why did you come? I specifically requested that you do not."

"I wished to see you."

"But you sent a messenger to seek my answer; I told him that I am busy."

"I am well aware of that."

Idril scrunched her face up in disbelief and disgust, and widened the gap slightly between Legolas and herself. Legolas just looked at her briefly then focused his attention back on forest road.

"There was a young one at your home," he stated, still facing forward.

"Yes."

"Is she of your kin?"

"No."

"A friend perhaps?"

"…I suppose."

Legolas paused in his questions for a moment, rolling his eyes over to Idril. She was walking confidently, occasionally glancing over at random trees on her side of the path. It was obvious that she was going to speak no more, and for once in his life, the Prince Legolas had no clue as to what to say.

For some time they walked in silence, neither of them wanting to speak: Idril, as she was already aggravated enough at this Prince and did not want to encourage that irritation; Legolas, for he felt unsure of what to say and how to say it – a rare thing, indeed.

A nimble wind flittered across Idril's face and through her hair, causing it to rise in one wave. In this motion, her hair stirred from its resting-place over her ear. Legolas thought nothing of it at first when he saw, half-hidden behind Idril's left ear, a long scar. However, a double take made him place a hand in front of Idril's body, in order to cease her step. Pushing back the strand of hair that was usually covering the scar, he tenderly traced over the wound, worry and confusion crossing his fair face.

"How did this happen?" he asked, lowering his hands. Idril inhaled deeply and turned her body towards the Prince.

"Legolas, my Prince, why do you wish to know?" she asked, although not in inquisition. The disguised harshness in her tone of voice signalled that she demanded an answer from Legolas. His brow was still slightly dipped in concern, yet his surprised eyes showed that the arrogant answer from the usually meek Idril was completely unexpected. And to her question, Legolas did not know of the answer himself.

Noting his silence, Idril released a spent sigh and proceeded her saunter. Legolas watched her walk for a moment before following and catching up.

"You are angry with me," he said, a slight allusion of amusement in his words.

"In all honesty, yes," came the instant reply.

Legolas thought about this briefly, pouting his lips a little in judgment and nodding to himself.

"I see. And why is that?"

Idril wrung her hands, although not necessarily in anxiety.

_'For how much longer I can endure this stroll I am uncertain.'_

She shook this grumbled thought out of her mind, tossing it back onto the path behind her.

_'He is the Prince. He has the power to make your life worse than it is. He could take away father, Eldanén, everything.'_

"Your Highness, with all due respect: you cannot treat people – your people – in the way in which you are. You do not care. People look up to you, and all you do is take advantage of your status. I acknowledge that you were born into this, but you should have been learned by now that as a Prince, you are expected to protect and sincerely love your kingdom, not merely represent it."

Idril heeded that she had ended her speech harshly, and looked up at Legolas in despair to witness his reaction. His face was unchanged, save for one slightly lifted eyebrow, yet his step had hindered.

"I am sorry," said Idril, flitting her eyelids shut in regret and sorrow.

"Do not be sorry."

Ticking her eyes open and crumpling her despaired face in simultaneity, Idril replied in hesitancy.

"Oh?"

"You are right."

To this, Idril had no idea as what to think, and solely stared at the ground in shocked amazement, widening her eyelids. She considered her situation, and played repeatedly in her mind the previous conversation. Yet, this still did not aid her utter confusion. Her brow driven deep down onto her eyes, she faced Legolas again.

"I am afraid I do not understand, my-"

"I know you do not. I do not ask you to. I am well aware of my reputation, and I am quite sure that you expected me to become irate as a result of what you said, am I correct?"

Idril said nothing in fear of uttering an insulting remark; she had already said too much. Hence, as a reply, she provided Legolas with a mere shrug of the shoulders.

"Are you afraid of me, Idril?" Legolas asked in a friendly manner, placing a hand on Idril's arm to slow her pace. Instead, she stopped altogether and whirled her body towards Legolas, her eyes transfixed on the ground.

"Prince Legolas…" she began, and rose her eyes upwards to meet his. They were kindly and, for the first time in all her 2,420 years, she noticed that they were laden with a mature wisdom, which greatly comforted Idril.

"It is not you that I am afraid of; it is the power which you hold as a Prince. It has been many winters since we were young and great friends. Conversation is now awkward, and I must pay you much more respect. Things are not as they were."

Legolas gazed at the woman before him for some time, embracing all she had said, before nodding loosely in comprehension. Slowly raising his hand and placing a delicate finger underneath Idril's chin, he smiled.

"It is good to see you again."

This was returned with a bashful smile from Idril, and Legolas dropped his finger. They continued on, a newfound placid silence replacing somewhat the previous uneasiness.

* * *

Queen Irethel lightly stepped through the great doors, nodding politely towards the two servants who were pushing them inwards for their Queen. She gazed around the enormous room for a minute, standing with exceptional posture; and her fingers interlaced, hanging loosely yet elegantly, down from her arms. The library was the oldest and largest room of the palace. Books and parchments from even the First Age were stored in this room - now musty in smell and exceedingly fragile. If one was not careful, turning a page may well destroy the book. She watched her beloved husband and King, who had his head down and his eyes completely absorbed in the parchment he held delicately in his fingertips, surveying the scrawled writing on the aged paper.

"My love?"

Thranduil's head darted up, and he bent the parchment towards himself. Irethel merely smiled, gazing at Thranduil, who had his head lightly tilted in expectant inquisition.

"Are you busy? I thought we might go for a walk," suggested Irethel, promenading over to Thranduil, a coy smile rolling across her lips.

"That depends, my dearest, on the purpose behind the walk."

"I wish to speak with you about your resistance towards Legolas and Idril's meeting."

At this, Thranduil brought the parchment up to his face again, scanning the wording for a while and attempting to disregard Irethel's words, before swinging his eyes over the paper and glancing at his wife.

"I am sorry, my Queen. I am much too busy."

"…I also wish to talk about Mablung."

Thranduil's eyes ceased their rapid movement, and stared vacantly at the parchment.

"Do you predict that this will be a lengthy walk?" he asked flatly.

"No, my love."

He blinked, and gave the paper one last darted perusal before setting it facedown on his writing desk with utmost care. He rested his fingers buoyantly upon the edge of the desk, and enclosed his eyes in thought.

"Let us be off then," he resolved, looking back up at Irethel and patting the desk lightly with his fingers.

* * *

Legolas slowed his pace as the couple approached a small clearing. It was fenced by thin trees, which were situated extraordinarily close to each other, their gaunt branches twisted around neighbouring ones. On opposite ends of the clearing were two three-foot wide gaps, where no trees grew. Dirt was lined along these openings, and it trailed off into the forest, forming a pathway on either side of the clearing. In the center was one solitary tree, growing tall and illustrious, branches growing out of its sides at the base and middle. Large green leaves sprouted in tufts along the limbs, growing larger, thicker and greener as they ascended the tree trunk, eventually reaching the tip of the tree.

Legolas walked towards the tree, halting at its base and tipping his head back to try to see the top. His lips ever so slightly curled into a smile in the corners, he lowered his head back down and turned towards Idril.

"Do you remember?" he asked quietly, gently, trying for some reason not to disturb the silence between the two.

"I remember," replied Idril, although it was her mouth subconsciously speaking these words, as her mind and heart were already lost in a blissful memory.

_"Idril… Idril, come down now! You are going to kill yourself, and I for one am certainly not going to take the blame."_

_The dangerously weak branch bounced up and down wildly above Legolas' head._

_"What are you doing? Idril, just come down from there…"_

_"I see it! Now cease your nettling, Legolas. I am perfectly fine."_

_Idril's feet appeared above Legolas' head, dangling over the tree branch._

_"It is not the first time I have climbed a tree. Now turn around. My undergarments are for no one to see – you least of all, Legolas Thranduilion. Shut your eyes!"_

_Legolas spun around on his heels to face the other way, rolling his eyes as he went._

_"Elleths…" he muttered under a sigh. He heard a light, almost inaudible thump behind him, so turned back around to face Idril, allowing an exaggerated and deliberate weary sigh to leave his mouth. Idril returned this with a sarcastically sweet smile._

_"Your palace is, on approximation, one league to the East, your Highness," she said, overly kindly and with a plastic smile._

_"Thank you, Idril. Shall we go?"_

_Idril did not answer, and skipped gaily towards the eastern path on the edge of the clearing._

_"I suppose we shall. It must be near dusk now, so we must hurry. I am afraid that because we were lost and delayed, we may well miss our supper…" Here she paused briefly, looking at Legolas, and grinned._

_"No thanks to your __wonderful__ navigation ability."_

_Legolas' mouth opened wide in offence._

_"It was not I that got us lost. You told me to take the path that leads to that willow tree of yours," he defended, walking towards Idril, who just smirked._

_"That is true. However, you are older than I am, and wiser. You must take responsibility," she pointed out. Legolas let loose a satirical laugh of surprise._

_"Older, yes – by two years! When we are five thousand years old, two years will be like the pebble on a mighty mountain."_

_Idril loosened her lips, and dragged in a heavy breath._

_"Five thousand. It seems so far away. And we have not yet reached twenty!"_

_"It seems an age away, true. However, be thankful for our immortality. We have a limitless amount of time to live and enjoy the world that Eru has granted us."_

_Idril nodded slackly at this, and the two adolescents stood unmoving in the clearing for some time, both minds devouring this thought._

_It was true; they did have the ability to live for an eternity, but was this necessarily an advantage? Both Elves pondered this idea: to live to enjoy the natural beauty of their world incessantly was definitely a privilege, but should this splendour end, what would become of the Elves? To be able to live through times when the world is dark and treacherous is of no benefit to the immortal beings of Middle-earth. Having to witness the downfall of the world that they created with exquisite detail would be a punishment worse than death._

_Legolas lifted his eyes upwards and stared at Idril through his eyelashes. She had her head bowed, breathing slowly and deeply. She had mature eyes at that moment that could have belonged to Thranduil himself, and were contrasted against her 15-year-old body._

_"Well," said Legolas, breaking the silence suddenly. "We shall not get supper, nor tomorrow's breakfast if we linger like this."_

_At the sound of Legolas' voice, Idril's eyes quickly came back into focus, shooting around the clearing before settling on Legolas' twinkling blue eyes. Raising and lowering her eyebrows quickly once and grinning, she began walking leisurely towards the path on the side of the clearing._

_"Yes. And so far, as I am closest to the path, it seems as though I will win and reach your castle first."_

_At this, Legolas burst into merry laughter, and began running along the path through the thin trees, with Idril right at his heels, wild laughter running from her lips._

Legolas turned his body towards Idril, chuckling lightly. Idril was still gazing at the enormous tree, yet her eyes simply shone with delight and her mouth had widened to form a sincerely charming smile. She dropped her head down and allowed one solitary giggle to leave her lips.

"They were good times; fun times," said Legolas, touching Idril's arm gently. Avoiding Legolas' eyes, Idril's head bobbed up and down.

"Yes, they were," she answered hesitantly, glimpsing up at Legolas, her eyes glowing with sincerity.

"Well," started Legolas, a mischievous smile spread across his face. "We shall get neither supper nor breakfast if we linger like this."

Idril closed her eyes lightly in joy, and allowed her small smirk to expand, transforming into a broad smile that brightened up her weary face in an instant.

Legolas lay a delicate touch of his hand onto Idril's back, and slowly the two exited the clearing and made their way along the well-known path.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

"Ibby, do you need more food?"

"No thank you," she replied, placing a hand over her bloated stomach, signalling that her desperate crave for food had, at last, been answered. Promptly after her gesture, Ibby released a small burp, before sheepishly covering her mouth with one hand and raising her eyebrows to a peak.

"Oh! Sorry," she said, giggling. Mablung, who had been sitting placidly in a cornered chair for the past hour, could not help but smile at the infectious tittering of the girl. He looked over to Garhirel, but no measure of happiness was to be found in her lovely face.

"Garhirel?" he queried. She did not budge her eyes from their vacant gaze outside. She slowly raised her hand to her chin, lightly tapping it with two fingers, before vaguely pointing it towards the woods outside.

"You are worried about them," said Mablung, reading his wife's face. She drew in a long breath and turned her head to face Mablung.

"Not so much them, as _her_."

"Do not fret, beloved. What do you think Idril would do – draw out a knife and slay the Prince?"

"Of course not," was the snapped reply. "She has refused to see him before, however, and she certainly did not leave willingly."

Mablung lowered his eyes to the floor before his chair, and allowed a whispered sigh to float through his lips. He lifted the front cover of the book in his lap, and softly lay it over the rest of the white pages. Standing up from his seat, he placed the book back onto the table beside him and leisurely walked over to Garhirel, looking her straight in the eye.

"Garhirel. You must trust Idril. She _knows_ that this is our Prince she is dealing with. She _knows_ that any implement of offence towards him may ruin our - well - our lives. I do not know how many times I must relay this to you, but she will not disgrace us."

"How do you know, Mablung? How can you be so sure? She hates me, loathes me, despises me – it is not as though she is going to try to make my life easy!" replied Garhirel, raising her voice to her husband and turning her body towards him. She followed this by straightening her back, pulling her body up to its tallest height in a vain attempt to intimidate Mablung into giving up the argument to her. However, Mablung was no short Elf, and he merely copied Garhirel's posture, pulling his head up to be higher than hers.

"Make your life easy? Now your life is harder to live than Idril's? Ridiculous, Garhirel. Open your eyes, and see the life that you are forcing Idril to live. A life of abuse and hate – that is no life for an girl who used to bear a marvellous spirit."

"And where is that spirit now, Mablung? If only she still upheld that spirit, I would act more kindly upon her."

Mablung squeezed his fists into tight balls and forced his lips to stay shut, so as not to extricate a string of Elvish curses from his mouth. He breathed deeply, his eyes closed, before slowly releasing his fingers from their firm grasp on his palms and replying calmly.

"You, Garhirel, murdered her spirit."

Garhirel's eyelids opened wide, and her mouth gaped, trying to find words. She dropped her head and stared at the wooden floor beneath her, frowning and shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"It is no surprise," said Mablung, marking his final statement with a harsh lustre on his tongue.

He kept his eye on Garhirel for a while, glaring at her, before making his way through the corridor and down the stairs at the back of the treehouse.

Ibby looked up at Garhirel innocently. Garhirel sighed wearily, and met the girl's eyes with hers. Together, both gazes shifted to where Mablung was sitting, not two short minutes ago. The chair was empty, and the table next to it supported the book that gained his full attention, if only for an hour. Leaning next to the table, was Mablung's cane.

"Did he mean to leave that there?" asked Ibby. All she received as a reply was a slight shake of the head and a careless shoulder shrug. With that, Garhirel sat down next to Ibby on a dining chair, folded her hands in her lap, and smiled sweetly, erasing all evidence of bewilderment and anger.

"Ibby, dearest. Let us talk."

"All right…" Ibby mused, probing her brain for a conversation starter. "I like potatoes."

A delicate drop of mischievousness subtly leaked from her tongue. Garhirel lifted her eyebrows lightly in surprise, and utter bafflement clouded her face.

"Potatoes? Ah."

* * *

Merry laughter raced throughout the forest. It was carried leisurely along the cool wind and poured through the treetops: an unfamiliar sound and feel for a forest of Mirkwood. Even the usual scariness of the wood could hardly drown the unusual sense of mirth that had quite suddenly been thrust upon it. The foundation of this joy was not hard to find. Underneath a tall, svelte tree sat two Elves. One's face was smiling as he used his agile fingers to weave together small, white flowers; the other had her head leaning back onto the tree's trunk, happy chuckles willingly abandoning her lips.

Dragging his eyes away for a brief moment from the tiara he was creating, yet not halting in his work, Legolas chortled quietly.

"Do you remember the time when we first attempted to make a loaf of bread?" he asked, beaming, and trying very hard to keep the laughter inside his body. This question spurred a giggle from Idril.

"Yes! I do not think we ever got into as much trouble as we did then. Your cook was enraged, I remember. What did he say?"

"Eh… oh, that's right. He threatened to use us as an ingredient in the next loaf, should we ever decide to bake again."

At the memory, Legolas and Idril both laughed simultaneously, Idril tipping her head back onto the tree trunk. Legolas gazed at her for a moment, smiling.

She looked happy, and that made _him_ happy, just like in old times. A genuine smile from her was a rarity on this day, but when she did, her entire face came alive. He loved making her smile. He loved watching the way her usually morose face took on a new persona when her heart was in high spirits. But why her? He did not take exceptional delight in compelling others to be cheerful…

"Your Highness?"

His thoughts were interrupted, and he instantly lost memory of them. Noticing Idril staring back at him in query, he diverted his attention to the subconsciously finished daisy tiara. He lifted it up with his fingers to eye level, and admired his good craftsmanship, nodding to himself in approval.

"Do you remember these?" he asked buoyantly, transferring it from his nimble fingers to Idril's head, and setting it down lightly atop her dark hair. Idril smiled, and toyed gently with the flower crown with the tips of her fingers.

"We used to make them regularly," she said, dropping her eyes downwards to the ground, where there sat dozens of little daisies in a small plot amidst the luscious grass. Legolas followed her gaze, and the pair sat in silence for some time, staring at the daisy plot and enjoying the silence and time away from their loved, but sometimes frantic, families.

Legolas raised his eyes up to meet Idril's face. She looked sad and depressed again, which deeply disheartened him. He had been tolerable for the most part of this day, and she had been laughing with him a moment ago, so it was most likely not of his fault. Inspecting her face further, he found that this sadness was natural to her – it did not reflect a current mood. He reasoned that some terrible thing was happening in her life, and he desperately wanted to know what it was.

"Idril?"

Idril's face was unchanged as she lifted her eyes and turned her head to Legolas.

'_Oh…' _

He was exquisite. Not all the beauty of all the Elven lands combined could ever match up to his fair face. All male Elves were naturally attractive, but the Prince Legolas… to her he was a splendour beyond words. Any girl would die to have him as a husband, suitor, friend or even acquaintance. So what was he doing with someone like her? She was not of nobility, she was not wise beyond her years, and she was most definitely not beautiful. She was just Idril. A little different to the other elleths, but that was certainly not a good thing. She and Legolas had been friends a long time, but that was thousands of years ago – why now was he sitting beside her, reminiscing over the past?

"Are you all right?"

Her mind clicked back swiftly into alertness.

"Eh, uh, yes."

Legolas shyly bowed his head to look at the tree root next to him, and then looked up at Idril from under his eyelashes in curiosity.

"Tell me why you are sad," he said nonchalantly, reminding Idril of when Legolas was only a wee lad and not even a decade old. Idril lightly smiled at his words. Her mind, however, did not share this humble demeanour. It spun through questions: why did he want to know? Why did he care? Did he feel responsible? What was she to say to this? Were they on some sort of 'friend' basis now, and could she be entirely open with him?

"Prince, I am not sad," she replied, forcing upon her face an artificial and hollow smile. All this received though, were a sceptical eyebrow raise and a mildly hurt look on Legolas' face.

"I am not believing your words, Idril. I can see your face, and you are clearly not in a gladdened disposition."

Idril's imitation grin slowly faded from her lips, and she avoided Legolas' eyes. Maybe if she did not fall into those magnificent blues, then she would not have to explain anything to the Prince about her past, her present, and what was contained in her future. She lowered her head, and focused on the daisy patch. A gentle finger touched her chin delicately, ever so lightly pushing it upwards.

He craved, so unthinkably intimately, to see her eyes. He wanted to become at one with them, to be able to know all of the secrets and answers hidden beneath them. Her eyes alone retained the entire story of her life, and all he wished to do at that moment was just crawl deep inside and read them, understand them. He did not care about the fact that he had no idea as to why he craved so desperately to cheer her soul, grant her happiness. All he was worried about was finding out what exactly it was that always drew him to this elleth – ever since he could remember, she had thoroughly fascinated him. She, of all people he had met in his lifetime, deserved happiness.

Idril freely allowed Legolas' finger to coax her head up to face him. She met his eyes with hers, and the utmost sincerity of the care in his them caused tiny salty water droplets to begin to form at her tear ducts. She willed them to disappear, which they soon did, but the look that Legolas was granting her compelled her to drop her gaze.

'_Why does he care?'_

"Legolas, please. I am in no mood to reveal all of my secrets to my Prince," she said, her voice almost a coarse whisper. For Legolas, however, this was hardly as acceptable answer.

"Has it anything to do with your father?" he asked softly, throwing forward the first thing to reach his mind. This triggered an immediate and shocked reaction from Idril, as she raised her eyebrows to their absolute peak and opened her eyelids as far as they could possibly go.

"My **father**? No!" she exclaimed. "I love him, with every fraction of my heart. I would give up my life for him; I love him with the entirety of my soul. No, no, no, I love my father, it's nothing… no."

"And your mother…?" questioned Legolas, obviously amused by Idril's suddenly passionate response. This question, however, did not secure such an enthusiastic reply from the elleth. She tilted her head slightly, and thought carefully for some time about her answer while her face calmed.

"My mother," she began, furrowing her brow, "has taught me much about life."

Following this, she drew her gaze from the Prince before her and swung her eyes slowly circuitously around the forest in which they were sitting, looking everywhere but at Legolas. Company with Elves other than her family was an unusual thing for Idril, especially when that company so happened to be of Royalty. Thus far he had been the only one to ignite conversation, however. She did not mean to seem rude to Legolas - he _was_ the Prince of her lands, after all - and so decided to begin a discussion between them herself.

"Prince Legolas, we have spoken of my parents. What of yours? Teach me of my King."

A meagre grimace surfaced on Legolas' face, causing the previous pleasantness to gradually disperse.

"Thranduil is a good King, a just ruler," he said. "I suppose he is an admirable father also, and he has not made my life unbearable, as he is quite a civil Elf. He allowed me to see you, although it _did_ take some persuasion." He ended light-heartedly, remembering the persistence he had to keep up just to have one day with Idril.

"Persuasion?"

"Yes. Do not worry though, it has nothing to do with you or your family. My father has been in quite an unnatural mood of late."

"How so?"

"Actually, I am not sure. I have never seen him like- oh, never you mind. Thranduil has a good heart. And I am quite sure that he will protect our kingdom well, in the many years ahead of us."

To this, Idril offered a smile in agreement, and, realising that she had been looking at Legolas for far too long, lowered her eyes from his. He could do nothing to this bashful mannerism but grin in silent amusement.

* * *

Arm in arm, the King Thranduil and his wife Irethel slowly dawdled through the grand Hall. White marble surrounded them on all sides, but for one three-foot wide black rug which trailed off ahead of them. For any average Elf, simply standing in this room would be something worthy of a memory. For the King and Queen of Mirkwood, however, they had travelled through this Hall many a time, and the priceless statues and artworks that arrayed the wealthy walls were the usual furnishings.

"You wish to talk." He made his comment in a flat tone. He just wanted to get this conversation finished – he had better things to do with his time than talk about his wife's past love interests.

"I did."

Irethel left her reply at that, staring straight ahead down the Hall, the slightest smile touching her face. Noting her silence, Thranduil turned his head to look at her.

Gazing upon her, he found that it was no wonder he had lusted after her for so long, for she was indeed very beautiful. Her long silver hair that reached down to her hips was left out, but for two slender plaits resting on opposite sides of her head. The plaits themselves ran down from the top of her head until they ceased at her elbows, with two thin blue silk strips tying them up and leaving the remainder of the plait to dangle down until the ends reached halfway down her forearm. Her grey eyes advertised her hidden wisdom and age, and each had a silver glint gracing them. Her pale blue dress lay softly over her figure, the hem falling to the ground in pure elegance, sweeping the floor.

"Which would you prefer to speak of foremost, my love?" she asked, knowingly interrupting his thoughts. "Our son, or Mablung Súlorn?"

Thranduil delicately ran a loving hand over Irethel's head, smiling at his wife.

"I have a choice? Why, thank you Irethel. Allow me one mere minute to think."

He raised a finger to his lips, cocking his head in jested thought. Irethel attempted to keep her delight hidden, only to fail when a grin exploded onto her face as she saw Thranduil's greatly exaggerated expression. Thranduil laughed briefly in joy and embarrassment as a servant-boy strode past, a look of slight worriment and disturbance growing about his face.

"Irethel, I believe that today we shall start off with your query about my acceptance of Legolas and Idril's meeting."

Irethel swallowed her smile, trying to adopt seriousness about her face, and nodded.

"Very good, my love. Although I do think that perhaps, we might take the conversation to the garden. Should you decide to embrace an unnatural face again, at least there will be no other beings to witness it; disregarding the birds, and myself of course."

Thranduil laughed through an exhaled breath, and tenderly caught Irethel's hand in his own, leading the couple in the direction of the small, yet beautiful and tidy gardens of the palace.

* * *

_Thranduil stopped short in his tracks as Legolas flew by, clad in green riding wear. _

_Why did he always have to wear that colour? True, green was the signature colour of those that he governed and loved, but Legolas was his son and of Royalty. Looking upon him now, he did not seem the slightest bit Royal – no crown was to be seen on his head and no cape resting on his back. He was wearing a simple green tunic, with black boots and light green leggings. The only confirmation that this Elf was, in fact, of relation to the Royal family of the King Thranduil was the quiver of arrows in his hand - the letter 'L' had been engraved in gold into a top corner of it; it was barely visible, but it was there. Thranduil, shaking his head free of all thoughts, began striding quickly after Legolas._

"_Legolas!" he yelled in a demanding tone. Legolas, recognising the asperity of his father's voice, halted immediately, drooping his head in exasperation. Grudgingly, he turned his body and walked back towards his father._

"_Yes, father?" he asked, striving to keep the groan in his voice unheard; yet, this endeavour turned out to be quite unsuccessful. Thranduil looked his son up and down in disapproval._

"_You are going hunting?" he asked, secretly hoping that this would indeed be the correct answer._

"_No."_

_Thranduil sighed, and stared at Legolas in silence. The only sound between them came when Legolas shifted his weight from one foot to another, and inhaled deeply in impatience. He knew better than to voice his opinion to his father, though, especially if it was of something that he knew Thranduil would get distressed or incensed about._

"_Where are you going, Legolas?" Thranduil asked dully, already knowing the answer but not fancying to hear it. Legolas drew himself up to full height, and placed a defending look upon his face._

"_If you must know, father – I am going to see Idril. So, if you would please excuse me," he replied matter-of-factly, and spun his body around to walk back through the front doors._

"_You are not going anywhere today, my son."_

_Legolas stopped in his pace, and whipped his head around to confer a harsh look to Thranduil, before snapping it back towards the doors indignantly, yet not moving from where he was standing._

"_And why is that?"_

_Thranduil walked beside Legolas and looked at his face. He appeared defeated, though still irritated, and his body was slumped._

_Legolas knew that no matter how he persisted, Thranduil's opinion was not going to sway. Once Thranduil had used the 'my son' address, there was no point in trying to get what he desired – when Thranduil called him his son, it was not a term of affection, but a reminder that he was Legolas' father, and with this fact he held much power._

"_You are a Prince, Legolas. A Prince's life is not all about hunting, and living in luxury, and socialising with women. There are some drawbacks, of which you are going to help me with today."_

_Legolas scrunched his eyes together and ran a hand over his face, letting it rest for a while on his cheek before dropping it back by his side. He could help his father with the boring matters later; why could Thranduil not see that? Still, he knew full well that any objections would not be particularly welcome to the King, and so held his mouth shut. With sinking shoulders and a heavy heart, Legolas trudged after Thranduil, depositing his quiver on a small table near his bedroom as he walked past. Thranduil pointed at Legolas' bedroom door, a little while down the corridor._

"_Get changed into something more befitting of a Prince. Then, come join me in the Library. I have some work I must finish up on, and it will be done in half the time if you help me. Go on," he said, placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder and giving him a gentle shove._

_Legolas tramped over to his bedroom door and opened it slowly. He walked in, and shut the door behind him. He could not be irate at Thranduil for too long, for he was a kind father, and not even Legolas could deny that he had bestowed upon his son a good life. He pulled his boots off, setting them by his door, and stripped himself from the green tunic covering the top half of his body. With that, he lay down wearily on his bed, flopping an arm over his eyes, and tried to forget about the day ahead of him._

_

* * *

_

Thranduil watched his wife as she set herself down upon a simply charming wooden bench, and then followed suit. There was no one out here but the two Royals; no one but Thranduil, Irethel or Legolas ever walked there. This was due to the fact that no other Elf, Man, Wizard, or other being, according to the rules of the highborn, were permitted to see the garden.

Heavenly flowers grew in almost every square inch of the garden, colours ranging from soft yellows and greens to outstanding reds and blues. There were but a couple of trees that grew in the garden – small they were, but their brilliant emerald green leaves were utterly splendid, glimmering in the forced light that was only just passing through the canopy of larger, older trees above. This small patch of the forest had been deliberately kept impeccably neat, looking slightly out of place in the midst of the Mirkwood forest. Yet, no matter how bizarre it was to have a perfect, colourful garden situated in a dark and inconceivably old forest, there was no denying its absolute beauty. The flowers and trees flourished naturally, grace to the magic of Elves. It was the perfect site to talk privately or be in isolation.

"Now – Legolas."

"Legolas, yes. Why, and tell me honestly, are you so greatly distressed at the notion of Legolas meeting a friend from long years past? It does not make any sense to me; judging from when I have met the girl, Idril is quite pleasant company."

Thranduil tucked his chin to his chest, thinking intently about his progressing answer. To lie to his **wife** would be disgraceful, but to tell the truth may find him in an uncomfortable and completely regrettable situation. He thought silently and thoroughly for a short while, pondering both sides of what he could inform Irethel. However, he found that in his answer, there would be no midpoint – he would either have to betray his wife's trust, or betray the faith one of his oldest and wisest associates. Either way was not at all of Thranduil's nature.

He quickly lifted his head and looked at Irethel. He almost felt pity for her, as her face was shadowed in utter mystification, a confused and irregular smile upon her lips.

If only she knew.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Giving his thighs a quick pat as a resolution, Thranduil dragged in a long breath and exhaled it alongside a contended and calm murmur. He turned his head to Irethel, his eyebrows slightly raised for the sole purpose of appearing natural and innocent. When his eyes fell over her pleasing face, he could not prevent a smile from casually sliding over his face.

'_She is heavenly. How is it possible that any living being could lie to one so fair?'_

"Irethel, I did not think- I did not think that, perhaps, that Idril necessarily desired to see Legolas."

'_Well, it is the easy way out of this but it is no lie.'_

"Oh?" queried Irethel, wanting more from her husband's comment.

"Yes," replied Thranduil, thinking earnestly of how he could expand his explanation. "She refused a meeting with him earlier, and the only reason they are together now is because Legolas went on his own free will without discussion with Idril."

Irethel cautiously nodded her head in understood agreement.

"That is true."

Irethel daintily tilted her head, expecting a reply. Thranduil, however, merely sat with his eyes glazed over purposely. The less said, he figured, the better.

Standing up suddenly from the bench, he looked down upon his wife. Her bold grey eyes penetrated through her thick lashes, brimming with a strange, unusual mix of confusion and utter adoration of her King. Oh, how he loved her. She was the only Elf in his lands to whom he granted his full respect. To think that Mablung had nearly secured her heart... she was his now at least. Of course, he now knew why Mablung had rejected her love. He recalled not knowing quite how to feel once he was alerted that Irethel could be his. He was grateful to him for freeing her heart of its commitment to Mablung, yet still wrathful at the prospect of any Elf having the nerve to break such a perfect Lady's heart.

"My love and beautiful Queen," he began, extending a hand for Irethel. She lightly embraced it with her own and rose with the complete grace a Queen is assumed to hold, her eyes never wavering from his. He softly held her other hand, pulling her lightly closer to him; her body willingly agreed.

"Ah, Irethel. I love you," he said, his voice now a whisper. He confirmed his statement by gently caressing her lips with his, before sighing quietly and placing a tender kiss on her mouth.

* * *

Legolas swiftly bent down and picked up a fallen flower. It was still young and fresh; its yellow colour had not been extracted fully yet from the cruelness of death. He twirled it around for a moment between his fingers, before turning and offering it courteously to Idril. She smiled at him in grateful flattery, and accepted the dainty flower from Legolas' grasp. Following this, the two continued the walk along the path together, spirits lifted from revisiting their memories.

"What has occurred in your life since we said farewell, all those years ago?" asked Legolas. This was returned with a casual shrug of the shoulders from Idril.

"Not a great deal. I have been whiling away my time speaking with the trees, and taking care of Eldanén, my younger sibling."

"Ah, yes, I met him this morning. A delightful lad, I must say. How old is he?"

"My little Tasarhin entered my life only ten, very short, years ago," she replied, her attention on the flower in her hand as she carefully played with the fragile petals. Legolas eyed the movements of her fingers, before it registered in his mind what she had just called Eldanén.

"Tasarhin?" he asked, grinning as he watched a slow smile spread across Idril's face.

"My nickname for him. Mother hates it, but Eldanén loves it. I gave it to him on his day of birth and it has stuck ever since, much to Garhirel's dissatisfaction."

She raised the yellow flower to her nose; breathing in its faintly lingering scent before it too faded into death, along with the ebbing colour of its soft petals. She rested her hand against her chest, the long flower lightly swaying underneath her chin. She sighed, enjoying the feeling of having pleasant company by her side. She and the Prince Legolas had not spoken for well over two thousand years – it was nice, being able to talk to him again, after such a long while.

'_He was a good friend. Only now do I realise how much I have missed his company,'_ she thought to herself, sinking her head downwards, and allowing a happy smile to glide across her lips. Her next thought, however, caused this smile to pass.

'_He is a Prince now. I cannot treat him the way I used to. For Eru's sake, Idril, you must realise that your friendship is dead.'_

She mentally kicked herself, trying to shove out all feelings of happiness.

'_After this day, I shall never hear from him again.'_

It was then that she recognised the elongated silence between them. This day, of all days, had a great chance of being an enjoyable one; she definitely did not want it wasted so continued communication between Legolas and herself.

"My dear Prince, I do not believe that your life has flown by unchanged."

"Indeed it hasn't," agreed Legolas with a slight nod of his head. "I have had to take on my many princely duties, and deal with my father's persistent demands of a marriage."

Idril slid her eyes sideways and looked up at Legolas. He loosened his neck to drop his head wearily, and shut his eyes.

"Do you wish to marry, my Lord?" she asked, not moving her watch on Legolas. He raised his head up again, turning it to Idril.

"I do. Yet only to one whom I love," he replied, shifting his gaze from her to the path ahead. He stared off distantly, and said no more to his answer.

"You have not found love?" Idril asked quietly, gently probing Legolas for a longer answer. Legolas smiled ever so slightly, closing his eyes, and shook his head.

"I have not. The Ladies that I meet either do not interest me particularly, or only wish to marry me for my position as Prince. I have never been in love but I am quite sure that when I do meet my soulmate, I will know that they are the one that I need to spend my life with."

After his words, Legolas and Idril fell into silence.

'_Why am I telling her this? She does not understand, let alone want to hear my thoughts on the matter.'_

"I am sorry," said Legolas. "I suppose you think me a fool for believing so strongly in love."

Idril halted.

"No."

He stopped also, and moved his body to face Idril. Tentatively, she reached for his hand, and gently folded it in her own.

"Legolas, you are no fool," she whispered, staring heavily into his eyes, trying ever so hard to let him know of her sincerity. "It is beautiful, what you believe. Love is beautiful. Do not settle for anything less than true love, Legolas. I believe that someday you will find your soulmate."

It was at that moment that she realised her fingers were becoming too involved with his, and she released her grasp quickly, returning her arm to the side of her body.

Legolas just stared at her curiously. Did she mean that? No one had ever said something like that to him before. Everyone he had revealed his thoughts on love to had told him that it was wrong to think that way – as a Prince, anyway. So many times had he heard that love was not an absolute necessity for a Royal marriage, and even that it would only bring trouble. Yet, she listened to him. She cared about his thoughts. Moreover, and most surprisingly, she understood and supported his ideas about love.

"Have you ever fallen in love, Idril?" he asked. She was probably being courted by some Elf at this very moment, and engaged to be married, for all he knew. However, Idril returned his query with an amused laugh, tipping her head back.

"No, Prince Legolas," she said through a smile, bringing her head back to view Legolas. "I have never been in love, and I do not think that I ever shall fall into such commitment."

"Why is this?"

Idril drew in a short breath and held it for a moment, pondering her answer.

"I just—I just doubt that it will ever happen," she said. She gave Legolas a quick smile to comfort him, as his face was shadowed in horror and worry.

"Do not misunderstand my words, Prince, for I believe that love would be wonderful, heavenly, and unconditionally blissful. I simply do not anticipate a loving relationship anytime in my future."

"But… but we will live forever. How can you live to see all ages of Middle-earth without experiencing love?"

Idril dismissed a spent sigh from her lips.

'_He does not understand. Why can he not just accept that, and cease all questions?"_

"Know this, Legolas: I believe that you will find love one day, and I believe that you will marry the lucky girl, whomsoever she may be. Although I do not see it in my future, I see it in yours. Do not marry a Lady whom you do not cherish dearly."

Legolas lowered his head, for now accepting Idril's strange prophecy and smiling at the delightful thought of someday finding love. His eyes found their way to Idril's, thanking her wordlessly.

"Well, Idril, my father certainly does not seem to think the same way as you do," he said, raising his head and continuing his walk along the path, Idril right beside him.

"Oh?"

"He believes that you do not need love in order to marry. He did not love my mother when they were wed."

Idril glanced up at Legolas in silent alarm. His face was straight; he was telling no lies.

"Then why did they marry?"

To this question, Legolas shook his head. However, it was not in lack of knowledge, but in lingering disbelief and disagreement.

"My grandfathers, Oropher and Túrë, were great friends and wished to unite the families. My mother fell in love with Thranduil, but only after years of marriage. For many long months, Irethel loved another."

Idril smiled at this. The Royal family had quite the little love story amidst their history, it seemed. She could have left the conversation at that, but her sheer curiosity became too much for her to bear in silence.

"Whom was it that Queen Irethel loved so strongly, that she had to be forced into marriage with Royalty?"

Legolas turned his head to look at Idril, and raised his eyebrows in surprise and delighted amusement.

'_She has not been told.'_

Her eyes teemed with curiosity, and they demanded an answer from him. How could he refuse? She had a right to know, after all.

"She loved your father, Idril."

She froze.

"What?"

* * *

Mablung unhurriedly walked along the stone path, examining each plant and tree along the way. It had been a long while since the Wood Elf had walked through this forest, his forest. The only sounds surrounding him were those of the low murmuring of the trees and the willow, moving dully in the breeze, and the clear tinkling of the weightless water slipping slowly and easily between the riverbanks. His nose welcomed the fresh, clean air that occupied this site, and he shut his eyes in delectation, glad to be back in this area after many months of unintentional neglect.

He carefully sat down upon the ground underneath the Old Willow, leaning his back against the tree trunk, and faced the stream.

"Father?" asked a small voice.

He whipped his head around, his eyes finding themselves looking upon Eldanén's innocent face.

"Eldanén… what are you doing here, my son?"

He beckoned Eldanén to sit by him. He plonked himself down upon the ground, and Mablung ruffled his hair playfully. Eldanén freed a small giggle, and shook his head, making his curly brown locks become unsettled. He faced his father, blue eyes meeting brown.

"I went for a walk and ended up here," he shrugged. "Has Idril come back yet?"

"Not while I was present in the treehouse, no."

Eldanén lowered his head in disappointment.

"_Oh."_

A kind smile crossed Mablung's mouth, and he placed a caring hand upon his son's head, stroking it gradually with his thumb.

"Why are you upset, Eldanén? Do you miss her?"

Eldanén, still staring blankly at the ground, pulled in his lips and swiftly shrugged one shoulder. Shaking his head lightly as a response, he looked up at Mablung. Once his eyes came upon his father's face he gave a cute, charming grin, in attempt to deceive the emotion of his heart.

"On the night of the Festival, she said that she would teach me how to talk to the trees. I could be like you, father, and Idril!" he said, joy growing in his eyes at the mere thought of being alike to his own father. He was quiet for several seconds as his excited smile drew away from his face, and then continued, his previously thrilled expression swiftly becoming replaced by an unbearable downhearted mien.

"It has been over half a week now. She said that she would do it the day after the Festival."

Mablung tipped his head to the side; intent on hearing what Eldanén had to say. He moved his hand from Eldanén's head to his small cheek, cupping his hand around Eldanén's jawbone.

"Tell me, Eldanén, why she did not teach you that day. Was she busy, perhaps? Your poor sister has had a fair bit occurring lately, it may be that she has not found time."

Eldanén responded with a small, sad smile and a nod of the head, dragging his eyes away from Mablung's, returning their gaze to the ground.

"On the day that she was supposed to teach me, Idril met her," he said quietly, almost inaudibly. Mablung's face crept into a perplexing vacancy, and he blinked a few times, his mind straining to conceive what exactly it was that Eldanén was trying to tell him.

"Who did Idril meet, Eldanén?"

He rose his head up slowly to see Mablung, a young fire blazing within his eyes, charring their colour to a dark, smoky grey-blue.

"Ibby."

Hatred and disgust purely dripped away from his voice, as heavy raindrops dragging themselves off a rose in bloom. Mablung's mouth opened slightly in shock, and he drew his head away from Eldanén now that the answer had reached his ears.

He knew not what to say to this.

Silently, Eldanén rose from his situation on the tree root and walked away from Mablung and the willow, casting him neither a farewell wave nor glance. Mablung carefully watched him go, until his small body could no longer be seen through the thickets or the trees. Sighing quietly, he faced the stream once more, and leant against the willow. The poor child, he loved Idril so dearly. He would have to talk with her about this sometime. Right now, he had a more important matter to attend to.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet scent of the elderly forest around him, pleasantly mingled with the crispness of river water.

'_Pen-vain a lend. Nin a lalaith. Meleth, avofaro an han; as telitha allen. Hebo tirith, a no i lass cuil lín ú-firitha.'_

His body sank into the warm life of the willow, as it slowly submerged him into its spirit.

"My heart is glad to see you," he whispered, so softly that he was not sure the willow itself could hear him. All around him fell silent as his Elven ears forbid all sound to reach them. It had been far too long since the souls of the willow and of the Elf were united.

* * *

A dim light could be seen glimmering through the tree branches ahead of them. The seemingly endless forest path was to end soon, and with it, Legolas and Idril's tryst. The sound of their comfortable chatting was heard; it was the only sound to grace the outskirts of the forest. Not many animals or birds dwelled in this part as the comings and goings of the business of the palace had eventually driven all but a few of the more quiescent species away.

As the two Elves slowly made their way through the forest together, the light grew brighter and the first signs of a grey-black rock face could be seen.

"You are certain that King Thranduil and his Queen will not mind my presence in their home?" asked Idril anxiously, twirling the yellow flower madly between her fingers. The grand palace of the King, Queen and Prince lay ahead, of which she had not seen for many a year. A commoner such as herself would most probably not be particularly welcome in the home of the Royals.

Legolas lightly lay his hand upon Idril's forearm to calm her nerves, causing her fingers rapid movements to cease.

"I assure you, they will not mind. At the least, they will be gladdened at the sight of their son in female company."

Idril saw his mouth moving and heard his words, but they did not register in her mind. All that she was thinking of was how to act around her King and Queen. Why was it that always – _always_ – whether it be the company of Royals or of other common Elves, she completely lost the ability to speak? All common sense and thought would leave her mind immediately, leaving it in an uncomfortable blankness. Luckily, she had finally managed to overcome the shock of being with the Prince, as at least he was easy to talk with. The thought of having to meet his parents, however, did no favours to her current state of mind, which was struggling to remain stable.

The sudden sight of the large cave not 15 yards in front of her, with a grand, large door carved at its base and guarded by two Elves dressed in smart green uniforms, did not ease her apprehension. Had she been a little more sedate she would have appreciated its, unintentionally forgotten, impressiveness but she found that speech had failed her as she opened her mouth to release no words.

Legolas walked towards the cave door before slowing his step and glancing back at Idril. She was motionless, her arms dangling by her sides and the flower fighting to remain in her loose grasp, and her head tilted back slightly, attempting to take in all of the sight in front of her. A half-smile appeared on his face as he paced back to her and offered an outstretched arm. Her eyes shook themselves out of their trance, and she meekly placed her hand in his.

"Come. Let me show you how I live," he said, pulling her gently along with him as he advanced to the cave door. Her numb legs had no choice but to oblige.

As they reached the door, Legolas gave a quick nod to each of the two guards in turn. They said nothing, but bowed simultaneously as their Prince entered the cave.

They entered what seemed to Idril to be just a large, dark room, walled by rock: a natural part of the cave, and nothing close to what Idril thought of befitting a Prince, let alone King or Queen. Again, her thoughts were yanked out of her mind as Legolas, still carefully holding her hand, led her over to the rocky side on the right. He drew himself up to his full majestic height as he halted in front of it.

"Open," he commanded, his voice echoing only quietly throughout the cave room. Once the echoes had passed, there was silence. After a few brief moments, a short grinding sound was heard as the wall in front of them trembled. Slowly, part of the wall was hauled away from them, revealing itself as a door, and gradually exposing one of the great Halls of the King Thranduil's mighty palace.

Legolas turned his head to check on Idril, granting her a quick, comforting smile, then escorted her through the open door. Idril clumsily followed, dumbfounded, and she noticed that as her grip on Legolas' hand leisurely loosened, his fingers clutched hers all the more tightly. Once they were both fully inside the marble-walled room, Idril looked back over her shoulder to see two strong Elves pushing the door shut behind them. She then noticed the long, thick gold bar protruding from the middle of it, obviously attached to it in order for the Elves to pull open the heavy stone door.

It shut with a resounding _thud_.

At that moment, as if on cue, Lairë trotted over to Legolas from out of the servants' kitchen. She gave a deep curtsy in front of him, before shifting her body slightly and doing the same to Idril. Legolas caught a glimpse of Idril's face as this manner of respect was bestowed upon her by an elleth that Idril did not even know. Her eyebrows arched, and a corner of her mouth curled into an amused smile.

Lairë switched her attention back to him.

"Your Highness, can I be of any service?" she asked brightly.

"Actually, yes Lairë, you can. Where are the King Thranduil and Queen Irethel at this moment?" he asked in a low voice, diverting instantly from the friendly, cheerful Elf that he was when he and Idril were talking a while ago, to the serious and authoritative Prince that most individuals saw him to be.

Lairë stared past Legolas' watch for an instant, trying to remember.

"Ah," she said, settling her eyes upon her Prince once more. "They went to the garden. I believe that they do not wish to be interrupted and will not return for some time, my Lord."

Legolas' face visibly brightened at her declaration.

"Thank you, Lairë, and very much so. That is all, you can return to the kitchen," he said with a simply charming smile. Idril could have sworn she saw the girl's knees go weak after Legolas' words of gratitude.

As Lairë went back to the kitchen to resume her duties, Legolas turned to Idril, both his smile and the happiness in his eyes utterly sincere and unmovable.

"Let me show you a place I am sure that you will take delight in," he said, before tightening his grip on Idril's hand – not so much as to hurt her, but so that he had a secure hold – and striding quickly down the Hall.

"How long will it take to reach this place?" asked Idril, marvelling at the size and length of the room: doors, stairs and corridors littering its sides. She received no answer but for Legolas' quickened pace.

They finally ceased their step after walking down most of the Hall, confronting a long flight of stairs, and then facing another extensive Hall. Halfway through the second Hall were two magnificent doors, which Legolas and Idril were standing in front of at that instant. The two servants pushed them open for the Prince and his acquaintance, to disclose the vast Library hidden inside.

Idril instantly let go of Legolas' hand and walked into the room on her own accord. Legolas sauntered after, a pleased smile gracing his lips.

She tilted her head back as far as it would go to see the ceiling, which was at least four times her height. Bringing her head back down, she swivelled her body around, her eyes eagerly absorbing all that was surrounding her. It was, by far, the largest and most beautiful room of any dwelling she had seen in her life. Thousands upon thousands of books lay quietly here. The room simply screamed knowledge and wisdom. She felt nothing more than to suddenly grab one book, read it all and learn of whatever it desired to teach, and then move on to the next book or parchment, until she had seen and experienced every piece of paper in every book, on every shelf, in every corner of the room.

"Oh…" she breathed. It was the only thing she could say, the only thing that was willing to leave her mouth and do this room's beauty absolute justice.

"I presume you like it then," said Legolas, sidling up to her. Idril just looked at him with her mouth still lazily hanging open, allowing her reaction to answer his statement. Her eyes darted back to the room around her, taking in all that was there, before closing her mouth in a smile. She shyly rose her eyes up to meet Legolas' face.

"It is one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen," she whispered, her voice so hushed and so low, she found it a wonder that Legolas heard her as he replied with a nod. His eyes found Idril's, but they then found it extremely hard to leave her warm gaze.

He lowered his head and watched as his two hands found their way into Idril's own. He slowly brought both pairs of hands towards his body, drawing Idril closer to him until she stood but a few mere inches away from him. He released his right hand from its gentle seize on Idril's fingers, bringing it upwards towards her face, his curved index finger only barely touching her cheek. He then brought it down from its place on her cheek to outline her jaw tenderly, finally leaving it to rest underneath her chin. He tilted her head upwards slightly, and he watched as Idril's eyes were immersed when her eyelids were slowly shut over her beautiful browns. His eyelids then began to fall together also, and he did not acknowledge it when his head cautiously began to dip, moving ever closer to Idril's lips.

They were close now. So close, that he could smell her sweet scent as it filled the air around him, making him forget all thoughts of where he was and what he was doing. The only thing he knew of was Idril's presence, bare millimetres away from him, awaiting the arrival of his lips' soft touch.

"Your Highness," announced a voice. Legolas' mind instantly drew out of the blind faze, as he quickly jerked his head away from Idril's, and took one swift step away from her. Idril did the same, turning her body as the two Elves rapidly separated from each other. Legolas coughed nervously, furrowing his brow as he turned to face the pretty, young Elf standing motionless at the doorway.

"Your Highness, begging your pardon, but your parents have returned," said Lairë, the usual youthful joy in her face now unapparent. Legolas gave a meaningless smile and raised his eyebrows, nodding in appreciation, yet deliberately restraining his eyes from looking at both Lairë and Idril.

Lairë stared at both of the uncomfortable Elves in turn, waiting for her Prince to dismiss her. Legolas just stood there in silence, blinking on occasion. Eventually, he rose his eyes up unsurely to see Idril, who had her arms crossed and was busy studying the patterns on the Library floor.

She could feel his eyes on her.

"I should probably go," she said quietly, motioning to the door with an index finger, yet avoiding Legolas' eyes completely. Legolas subconsciously licked his lower lip and regained his full composure.

"Yes, yes. Um… Lairë, show her the way to the front of the palace. Thank you."

Lairë turned to go out of the door, and Idril began to follow. Legolas however, always the gentleman, thought that a short farewell would be appropriate.

"Idril…"

Idril stopped walking and hesitantly looked over at Legolas, suppressing a shudder when she met his eyes. He bowed to her, not permitting his eyes to leave their firm gaze upon her.

"It was lovely. Today was lovely, I mean. I, uh, I hope to see you again soon," he said whilst rising. He did not mean to sound insincere, for he meant his last comment, but the awkwardness between them remained and it was a challenge for him to control his words. Idril responded to this with a light curtsy, and a warm smile, which intensely comforted him. He managed to place upon his lips a small smile, as Idril silently followed Lairë through the great doors of the Library.

He sat down wearily on a soft chair, raking his shaking fingers through his hair gently.

'_**What**__ did I just say?'_ he asked himself. He was a Prince! Why did he just crumble to a nervous ruin when he did not even kiss her? He inhaled as deeply as he could and released his breath casually. Slowly, and unintentionally, the corners of his lips rolled into a smile, only getting wider and wider the more he thought about what had just occurred. He allowed a short laugh to escape his lips, as it was impossible to keep behind a shut mouth.

"That was not good."

* * *

**A/N: Everything will be explained soon… the most part of it in the next chapter. That's convenience for you.**

**As always, thank you to my darling reviewers. :)**

_-Laura._


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

If any being were to walk into the Súlorn household at that moment, they would have been greeted with quite an unusual sight.

Idril and Mablung both sat on wooden stools with their heads bowed, staring emptily at their fingers which were quietly interlaced in their lap, and not breathing a word. Ibby was busy occupying herself with a large bowl and a short knife, making quick work of the little pile of potatoes sitting in her lap, throwing the unwanted skin peelings into the dish. Little Eldanén was sitting comfortably in a large, cosy chair, his hands barely reaching the ends of its arms and his feet not touching the floor, staring coldly into the ground. Garhirel was standing, puzzled and clueless, in the middle of the four.

She did not pay much attention to her husband and daughter, because they had sat in an awkward silence many a time before. She then watched Ibby peel for a minute, amazed at how much delight the girl actually took in doing work. Eventually, she moved over to her son, and crouched down to his eye level.

"Eldanén, what are you thinking about that has caused that hostile stare?" she asked, quickly running a hand through his hair before bringing it to rest on his left hand. He did not look at her, and merely dismissed her question with a long, shuddering sigh and a shake of his head. Garhirel wrapped her hand around Eldanén's and stood up, bringing Eldanén with her. Her hand found the top of his head, as she walked towards the front door, her hand lightly coaxing her little son to walk in front of her. As the two reached the door, Garhirel opened it with her free hand and faced Mablung.

"Mablung, I am going for a walk with Eldanén. We will be back before dusk."

Mablung broke out of his trance, looking over at first Eldanén, and then at Garhirel. He gave her a quick nod, and the two exited through the door, Garhirel shutting it behind them quietly.

For some time after, there were no sounds save for the scraping of Ibby's knife and an occasional unintentionally loud, heavy breath from either Mablung or Idril.

Ibby eventually paused in her work, lifted up the bowl of peelings and set them down on the floor before her loudly, causing both Idril and Mablung to raise their heads. Their eyes were hailed by a frustrated and angry face.

"Tell me what is going on. The both of you have not said a word all morning."

Mablung's eyes swept over to Idril, who was staring with no emotion at Ibby, and her body was unmoving. Slowly, she leant forward in her chair, resting her elbows upon her thighs and steepling her fingers. A small smile then dared to cross her lips.

"Dear Ibby. I am afraid that there are some things in this world, mature things, that you would not understand, and—"

"I'll wager that I would," Ibby retorted, instantly cutting off Idril's short speech.

This sharp, assured remark caught Idril off guard. Her fingers departed from one another, and her body shifted backwards to lean on an imaginary back of her stool.

"I am not as little and as naïve and innocent as you may think. I have suffered many hardships in my life, particularly in the past few weeks. Tell me what is going on." She ended her comments harshly and firmly, leaning forwards in her chair. Staring dryly at the unblinking Idril and Mablung, she tipped her head to a side, expecting an answer; though, it did not come. She sighed in exasperation and sunk back into her chair.

"All right. I will ask the questions."

Her eyes drifted away upwards as she thought out her first question for the two Elves, until her face suddenly lit up with a concoction of surprise and joy.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "What did you and the Prince do yesterday, Idril?"

This brought about a quiet smile on Idril's lips. It was not necessarily joyful, nor excited or bashful, but more of a smile that brought about an extreme expression of an elderly maturity to Idril's face. After it had slowly faded, Idril thought long about her answer, her eyes gentle.

"Many a thing. We talked, for the most part," she finally replied, coyly demitting her head so that neither Ibby nor Mablung could notice the slight pink blush that had quickly spread across her cheeks.

"Talked about what?"

Idril's eyes rose so as to stare directly into Ibby's own faded, inquiring greys.

"Everything," she replied, realising it for the first time herself. "Everything."

She repeated her latter comment in a small whisper, her eyes slightly glazing over. They had talked about everything – even love. _Love!_ They had spoken of when they were but young ones; of times when they laughed and sang song together. They had spoken of Idril's life, of Legolas, of both their families, of the Wood and forest lore, of the future, of their dreams. Idril recalled even speaking harsh words to her Prince.

"What else did you do?" Ibby's voice cut through Idril's thoughts. She blinked a few times, bringing her current surroundings back into clear view.

"Uh…oh," she stammered. She coughed once, coaxing her voice to return.

"Well," she began, after a quickly exhaled sigh. "He showed me his palace, which was quite generous of him."

At this, Ibby jerked forward in her chair, her mouth gaping open in an astonished and excited grin. Idril could do nothing but chuckle heartily at Ibby's stupefaction.

"I was then led into the Library, and oh, father," she gushed, turning to Mablung. "Its beauty is overwhelming. You would love it, I know you would. It is truly amazing, and I have never seen such a thing like it in all my life. You must see it sometime."

"I have," he replied, his words accompanied by a warm smile. He tore his eyes away from Idril to look in amusement at the bouncing Ibby.

"What happened then?" she asked, her voice pitched in excitement. Idril's mirth quickly faded at the memory of the previous day in the Library, Idril shut her eyelids and guttered her brow slightly. She drew in a long breath, then released it slowly, relaxing her body as the air escaped. She truly believed that she had lost her very voice, but managed to allow but a few words to whisper from her lips.

"I almost kissed him."

She dropped her head in despair but, noticing the dead silence, quickly brought it back up to view the unusually silent Ibby. The young girl had her eyes bugging out of their sockets, and her eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hairline, words unable to pass through her open mouth.

Shortly after she calmed her thrilled and jumping heart, which felt as though it would explode, Ibby noticed Idril's glum expression. She seemed far too unhappy for someone who had nearly kissed a Prince.

"Idril?" What is- why are- what's the matter? I should think you would be, at the least, a little joyous. What- is this not a good thing?" she asked, absolutely befuddled, the expression on her face clearly showing this.

"No," said Idril, her voice dense with misery. "No. It is far from good."

She promptly let her head fall into her open hands; her elbows propped upon her thighs. Her hair dutifully followed her head's sudden movement, falling instantly around and over her face and shoulders, shrouding Idril in a dark curtain.

Had she been looking, she would have laughed at the expression that appeared on Ibby's face at Idril's distressed reaction. Mablung seemed to be the only one out of the three to have a completely sane head upon his shoulders. He leaned forward and placed a caring hand on Idril's shoulder. At her father's touch, she raised her head slightly, looking at Mablung through her dark tresses.

"Idril, the poor child does not understand," he said, indicating towards Ibby with a slight move of his head.

"Does she really need to? She is so young, she will not understand. No one ever will," she replied, allowing her gaze to drop from Mablung's and onto the wooden floor of her home.

"Idril, it would only be fair."

* * *

Naught but the sweet sounds of every beautiful thing surrounding her reached her ears. Oh, how she loved this place. With eyes closed, one would be fit to wholly fall into the heavenly sounds and smells of the Garden; it brought peace and enlightenment to whomsoever wished to sit themselves there. Eyes open, one would simply be overwhelmed by the stunning beauty that was presented before their eyes.

Irethel breathed deeply, savouring every fresh, sweet scent that should reach her.

'_A breath of utter harmony in an otherwise chilling world.'_

This place, this sanctuary, was the only place in which Irethel truly felt at home. She often yearned to return to her homeland of Rivendell, where clear rivers ran alongside assorted colours of flowers, luxuriously green trees growing almost everywhere. Mirkwood was beautiful, it was true, but to Irethel it always seemed to be too dark and gloomy, and without cheer. Still, as haunting as it was, it was not hard to see exactly what it was that the Wood Elves loved so dearly about it. Its plant life and ancient trees were really things to cherish.

"Oh, sorry."

Irethel's inner calm had spread throughout her body, and she merely dragged open her eyes at the sudden sound of a voice.

"Legolas, a pleasure to see you," she greeted with a light smile. To this he replied with rather a large grin, and sat by Irethel. He glanced around him, taking in the splendour of everything around him, before closing his eyes lightly in pure bliss and contentment.

"I love this place," he said, opening his eyes and facing his mother, the smile from when he entered still clearly visible.

Irethel watched her son, as carefully as an eagle would to a rat, whilst he toyed with the flowers near him, gently caressing their soft petals and stroking the leaves between his fingers. The look of sheer happiness never dropped from his fair face. Yet, however much she observed him, and used her knowledge as a mother to aid her, she herself could come to no answer for her question.

"And what has got you in such high spirits?" she asked, solely out of curiosity. Legolas did not face her, and only continued to dance nearby flowers between his fingers, yet his grin grew broader.

Why was he so cheerful? He knew full why. All he was searching for was some sort of confirmation of his feelings and the reason behind them.

How better way to make sure of them, than by discussing them with his own mother?

He turned to her.

"Do you remember Idril Súlorn?" he asked cautiously.

Irethel's brow rose in surprise, and her mouth opened to draw in breath before it closed lightly with a sweet smile.

* * *

Idril drew in a long breath - not in the least because she was nervous, nor because she was delaying what was about to be said. Young Ibby could only be thirteen years of age, and she was about to be the first to hear of Idril's case – other than Mablung, of course. Idril thought, choosing her speech carefully for the little girl, before it was spoken, so that she would understand as many of Idril's words as possible.

"Elves are immortal, Ibby. You know this, do you not?" she asked, folding her hands together neatly in her lap.

Ibby gave a short nod.

"Yes indeed. It must be wonderful."

"Hm," Idril replied through an amused grunt, before continuing, "an Elf can only die either as a result of utter grief and despair, Ibby, or they can be slain, yes?"

"Yes," answered Ibby, though uncertainty haunted her words.

'_Where is Idril going with this?'_

"My father and I," Idril continued, gesturing to both herself and Mablung with her hand. "Are… somewhat different to the other Elves."

Ibby cocked one eyebrow in both curiosity and vague doubt.

"Different. What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that father and I are subject to a, well, a curse if you like. One that can kill us both."

Ibby's eyes flicked quickly between the two Elves sitting before her, not sure as to whether or not to believe what Idril was saying.

"I see," she said, after a lengthy silence.

It was getting quite awkward now for the women – both Idril and Ibby were uncomfortable in the situation, which was exactly what Idril did _not_ want to happen.

"Look, I—I am just going to say this plainly and without much detail: my father and I are subject to the Yávië, which therefore…"

Idril trailed off as she noticed a confused look of recognition appear on Ibby's face. She ended her words to allow the girl some silence in which to think.

"Yávië. I have heard of that before, but I am not sure where."

"Yávië is an Elvish word meaning 'autumn'," informed Mablung, joining to the conversation. Once he saw clearly that he had Ibby's undivided attention, he continued.

"Autumn, however cruel and death-ridden it may seem, is a beautiful time in a tree's life. As the days grow colder and the Sun's light wanes, a tree becomes weaker. This then results in the loss of its splendour, as its distinctly different leaves fade into death - softly, quietly, and without complaint, falling to the hard ground. Then, after winter is over and done, spring enters the forest, bringing with it both old and new life. Yet, this is not always the case with some trees. Sometimes, and it is very rare, a tree does not have the strength to build new life, and simply dies. Are you following my words?"

Ibby gave a vague nod, though it was clear that her mind had wandered somewhere through Mablung's speech and was now hopelessly lost.

"What my father means, child—what he is trying to say, I mean," cut in Idril. Yet, her rambled mind quickly completely mislaid everything that she was yet to say and she fell abruptly silent. The situation was already very uncomfortable, she was getting absolutely nowhere and she was not only confusing Ibby, but also herself. Trying to calm herself, she slowly inhaled a rich, deep breath. All confusion and complications in her mind were swiftly swept out, leaving her head clear of all frustrating problems and riddles.

'_What has you so tense? It is just Ibby, it is not as though I am speaking these words to the Prince.'_

At the mere thought of Legolas, however, an unplanned and uncontrollable smile whisked onto her face.

He was nice to her yesterday. He actually listened to her, and cared about what she spoke of – at least, that was how it seemed to Idril. Maybe she was fooled. Maybe his gentle suave smile, and the way his eyes danced when he voiced his opinion on love, was just a disguise for what he truly felt. Maybe that day meant something different to him than it did for her – perhaps it was just another day in the life of a Prince. He probably could not even dream of the idea of rekindling their strong friendship. Oh, but what happened in the Library…

He would not wish to see her again; that, Idril was almost certain of. Perhaps they would meet again, by some chance, but if that befell, he would not desire to speak with her again. He would simply expect a curtsy and the respect that he deserves from her, and then no more would be said. He would not _want_ anymore to be said.

Would he?

Naturally, more questions raced into her thoughts, each one ardently burning to be answered first. What did he think of yesterday? What did he think of her? What was he doing right now? Was he thinking about her, or had he completely erased all memory of her already? Had he spoken to anyone about their day; did she actually _know_ him; did he mean to lean in as close as he did?

She was confusing herself again; her mind promptly growing pressed with possibilities, thoughts and unanswered questions. She wanted to yell - just drop to the floor and scream, never stopping until she exhausted all of the zealous energy that her head was creating!

"I shall begin from the top," she said to Ibby, spitting out her words and releasing the tension in her mind, forcing it to divert its attention to reality. She slowly drew her eyes up to meet Ibby's, the grating strain in them steadily fading, and her eyes lightening back to her natural brown, recovering from the near black that they had just been.

"An Elf of Yávië – of autumn – such as myself or my father, have our spirits bound to a willow tree."

'_A good start. Keep calm. Do not think of—do not think of him.'_

"Love weakens anyone who dares cross its path. I am not implying that love is an enemy, for that is far from the truth. However, when you fall in love, the being whom you adore means everything to you, they become your life, and you would do anything to ensure their happiness. You do not think straight either when you are in their company or not. For any Elf, human, or other race, this should be utter bliss, for there are no bad consequences, save for a possibility of a broken heart."

She paused to assure herself that Ibby understood what Idril was saying thus far. The concentration in Ibby's eyes confirmed that she was indeed following her every word, so Idril continued.

"Elves subject to Yávië, however – no matter the manner in which they love and whomsoever to, besides those who are family – falling in love will only end in punishment."

Here she paused again to let her next sentences take their full affect on the child.

"I, as an Elf of Yávië, cannot fall in love. If I do, I will be dead by the heart of the soonest winter."

"Dead!" exclaimed Ibby, her body shooting forward in her seat.

"It is as I was saying before," began Mablung, his voice set in its usual calm, wise tone. "As the willow tree in autumn loses its leaves, the rate at which it deteriorates depends upon the Elves who are bound to it. If all are healthy – meaning, their hearts are free of love to one whom is not of their kin – then the willow, or as we call it, the Old Willow, rests through winter and then begins life once more when spring's warmth reaches its boughs.

"Yet, if all of the Elves whose spirits are owned by the Old Willow are in love, it loses the strength to build new life in its branches again, and those who are subject to it die in winter. The Old Willow is our life force, but once it loses its strength, it cannot keep the Elves' spirits alive."

"Oh, I- I see. Though, what if only some of the Elves bound to the tree are in love?" interrupted Ibby, clearly overwhelmed by what she was hearing, but needing to know more.

"As long as there is just one Elf not in love, then the Old Willow keeps just enough strength to survive the winter," replied Idril, taking on the role of educating Ibby on the Yávië Elves' ways.

"At this moment in time, there are but two Elves bound to the tree: my father and I. This only occurs in those of the descent of those subject to Yávië. I take after father, in the sense that I possess the ability to communicate with trees – and on a much deeper level than that of other Elves. My mother is not a Yávië Elf, for she, quite plainly, does not come from the bloodline, and Eldanén fortunately takes after her.

"At least that is what we assume – thus far, he has his mother's hair and eyes and he is very much a Water Elf. One can usually tell if another Elf is of Yávië by the end of that Elf's tenth autumn - that is just how it works. For Eldanén, that is in three months, and if he were a Yávië Elf we would have noticed by now."

After Idril stopped speaking, there was brief silence in the group, as Ibby gathered her thoughts and tried to get her head around the heavy load of information she had recently received from the Elves.

"And—and Mablung, you are in love?" she asked, looking for a confirmation of her guesses. Mablung gave a slow nod.

"That I am. I love Garhirel."

At this, Idril subconsciously flinched. She had known Garhirel for over 2,400 years and never had she seen a trace of kindness or gentleness, besides towards Eldanén. She just could not imagine exactly what it was that drew her father to Garhirel. As a child, she had often thought seriously of the idea that perhaps her mother was some sort of evil enchantress that had placed upon Mablung some sort of spell.

"And you are not, Idril?" asked Ibby, distracting Idril from the memory.

"I am sorry. I am not what, exactly?" she asked stupidly. She hated it when she got lost in her thoughts, only to come back and forget what she was in the process of doing.

"You are not in love."

"Oh, no. I cannot. I shall have to settle with my dreams of what love would be like, without actually experiencing it," Idril replied with a kind smile.

Mablung squeezed out a sad smile. It was his fault that she would never love, after all. He loved his daughter, and very much so, and it pained him to know that she could not have what she so rightly deserved.

"I cannot fall in love," Idril continued. "For if I do, I not only end my life, but also father's life, and I destroy the Yávië's exigency, ending my bloodline."

She knew that she could not have love. But oh, that did not mean that she did not crave to have even just a taste of it; to just be able to love someone and also be loved by them.

'_Oh, just to have one day of love, without knowing of impending death.'_

_

* * *

_

Legolas sat with his mother, as the crisp autumn breeze easily found its way through the Garden, softly rocking the lightsome flowers back and forth. The Royals' voices mingled nicely with the wind as they softly chatted.

"I would like to see her again, mother. I would like to talk to her, and perhaps reawaken our friendship."

"What is stopping you from doing so?"

Legolas' brow rose, and a short puff of air was set loose through his lips, as his head flicked through the reasons.

"For one, I do not think father would be at all pleased about it. He, for some reason, did not want me to meet with her. Secondly, I do not want to cause more awkwardness between us. Do you know a remedy for either?"

"I do not," replied Irethel as she shook her head gently.

They fell quickly into silence.

Legolas thought; there were many things upon his mind, and he did not know which one to focus on first. There were, of course, the little wonderings that constantly graced his thoughts, such as his future role of King of Mirkwood, which would almost inevitably happen in due time. There were such concerns as: his land's safety and protection, making sure that his people are well, and what would happen should Mirkwood come under attack.

But then, of course, there were the newfound worries that, at this moment in time, were most important to him.

"He did tell me one thing," said Irethel, renewing discussion, "although I am quite sure that it will mean nothing."

Legolas returned his focus to Irethel, his attention to her wordlessly telling her to proceed.

"I asked him why it was that he did not wish for you to see her."

An intense interest in what his mother had to say overcame Legolas, as his body instantly became more alert, his ears fully ready to pick up every word of information.

"Although, I know Thranduil. He told me that he did not think that Idril desired to meet you on that particular day, and that was his reason for forcing you to remain here, and preventing you from seeing her. Yet, as I just said, I know Thranduil. He misjudges my level of wisdom and my understanding of his mind. He did not lie to me when he told me his reasons, but indeed, he did not tell the truth. What he spoke to me, is certainly not what he truly felt."

Disappointment clouded Legolas' face.

"I only wonder what he _did_ truly feel," he said quietly, speaking aloud his thoughts.

"As do I. I wish I could give you more insight into the mind of your father, but alas, even I cannot interpret his silent ideas."

Legolas had to smile at this. If anyone could understand Thranduil, it was Irethel; yet in this case, Thranduil had managed to leave everybody clueless.

* * *

**A/N: If anyone wants more explanation on what Yávië is, or anything about it, please send me a message, and I'll explain. **

**I hope you're enjoying the story thus far! Everyone's feedback has been so lovely and helpful.**

_-Laura._


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Legolas' eyes whisked around the Library as he entered. It was a large rectangular room – the largest room in the residence – and three of its walls were coated with wooden bookshelves, which reached high up into the ceiling. The one wall that did not boast these bookshelves was to Legolas' right, and an arched window was situated right in its middle, allowing the dim morning light to enter the room. Not far in front of the window was Thranduil's desk – a dark brown wooden table that could have seated eight people, but only ever accommodated the King's large chair.

Thranduil was seated upon it, the top of the chair reaching far above Thranduil's golden head. He dipped his quill into the ink bottle swiftly, before returning it to the piece of white paper before him, his hands racing across it, leaving behind wet black Elvish letters.

Legolas approached the wall directly opposite the doors through which he had just entered, knowing exactly what it was he wanted, and where it lay.

The book with the golden binder leaned gently onto the slightly bigger book neighbouring it. He reached for it, and carefully pulled it out from its place on the shelf. He turned it over in his hands to see the title: _Yávië_.

Grasping it between both of his hands, he made his way over to the nearest chair and sat in it. He rested the book upon his lap, ever so lightly moving his hand over it, before his fingers moved to the red silk bookmark. He flipped through the pages until he found the body of the bookmark, and then slid it off the page to place it beside him on the arm of his chair.

He read an excerpt.

_Thus, he fell into the willow's spirit, binding tree and Elf. This was Handion's sanctuary, the one place he felt at home. Here he could forget his father's death, he could forget the arising of war, and he could forget her. Her – the one who could end not only his own life, but those that he loved. So much depended on him, and she could destroy everything with one single emotion: love. At times, Handion wished for nothing other than for her never to have been brought into the world, never to meet him, never to fall for him._

_She was his life. She was what he lived for. Yet, she was the one to soon become the cause of his downfall._

_Before he slipped into the mind of the willow, he cursed both Yávië and love silently. He was getting close to leaving her forever, he knew it in his heart, and he was not sure how she would go on without him. Oh, he hated Yávië. It was the thing that would eventually tear him away from his beloved - from the one person that offered him pure happiness, completeness and love._

_Just as the willow took hold of his spirit, he whispered one name._

"_Maerwen."_

Legolas heard Thranduil's voice run across the dense morning air.

"Lovely day."

Legolas lifted his gaze from the book.

"Indeed it is," he replied. His father offered him a nice smile as their eyes met, before resuming writing his letter.

Legolas' eyes, however, did not waver; they remained fixed upon Thranduil, observing him carefully.

'_Dare I ask?'_

He thought of that day – the day before last – when he had seen Idril. It was a good day; one that he would very much like to have repeated. Granted, it did have its awkward moments, but it did not take long for Legolas to find that he greatly enjoyed being in Idril's company.

He was going to see her, _that_ Legolas knew. Yet the main barrier restricting him from doing so remained unconquered – he needed to talk to Thranduil.

Legolas watched his father intently. If he could have one wish, it would be for the power to read Thranduil's mind. Even now, as Legolas examined his father, he had no clue as to what was running through Thranduil's head.

'_I finally find an woman of whose company I enjoy, and he does not encourage the idea that I may merely __**see**__ her?'_

He watched as Thranduil's eyes found their way back to his own. Thranduil seemed not to notice that Legolas' heedful eyes had not retired from their guard on the King since they had last spoken.

Thranduil flicked his gaze downward to the book in Legolas' lap.

"What are you reading?" he asked, with an innocently curious tone in his voice. Legolas glanced down at the black Elvish words written across the pages.

"_Yávië_."

This immediately brought about an uncomfortable look on Thranduil's face.

"I do not understand why you enjoy that story as much as you do, Legolas. It is a fictional tale, with no happy ending."

"Not all fantasy tales must end happily, father. An unhappy ending is what gives this story a sense of realism. It makes a point that love may not always be as grand as it is made out to be."

Thranduil said nothing to this, and only released a short sigh before lowering his head, bobbing his quill into the ink, and continuing to write his letter.

Legolas judged by Thranduil's reaction that it was not the best time to speak of Idril, if he wanted to see her again. He quietly closed _Yávië_, and rose from his seat to return the book back to its place on the shelf. As he paced out of the Library, he was unaware of Thranduil's cynical eye following his every move.

* * *

Idril walked off the final step. Turning around, she faced her father, and offered an outstretched arm as an aid for him to complete his short trip down the back steps of the treehouse.

The two began their stroll, but it was not long before Idril slowed her pace and switched her gaze from the path ahead to her father's wise and calm face.

"I have something I wish to discuss with you."

Mablung did not look at her, but a buoyant nod of his head was enough for Idril to know that she should continue.

"The Prince and I spoke of many things," Idril said, ending her sentence with a quiet breath of laughter. Many things indeed – she had come close to letting slip her secret to him which she had managed to keep to herself, until recently, for over two millennia. Even Garhirel and Eldanén did not know of the Elves of Yávië.

"Many things," she repeated. "Including the Queen Irethel."

She watched Mablung closely. However, his facial and bodily expressions remained entirely the same, as though he had never even heard of Irethel.

They both made no sound as they gradually made their way along the forest path.

A puzzled expression came about Idril's face. Surely, this could not be the reaction of one who had once owned the Queen's heart. She decided to probe him further. Answers were a necessity – Legolas had presented her with the facts, now she needed someone to make sense of them and confirm the truth behind them.

Her gaze floated vacantly to a thin tree several yards ahead, as she wondered how to go about her forthcoming statement.

Idril's head idly turned towards Mablung.

"He told me that our Queen once-" here she hesitated. Was it entirely safe to bring up this issue to him? Did she really want to witness his reaction?

She drew in a deep breath.

"That she once loved you."

She watched Mablung's eyes dart to the ground in simultaneity with his now ceased step. He stood silently in thought for a moment, never moving a muscle.

He lifted his eyes, then looked down at Idril.

"He told you that?"

"Yes," Idril replied. "And I wish to learn more than what he spoke to me about."

Mablung's gaze found its way back to the ground.

"And how much has he spoken of?" he asked, his voice calm and controlled.

"Not a great deal; what I have told you is all that I know. We turned from that issue fairly quickly."

Mablung sighed and allowed a short smile to grace his lips. He nodded to himself, before facing Idril.

"Very well. I suppose it is time. You need to learn of events that occurred long before you were brought into this world."

Idril gave him a warm, appreciative smile.

"Thank you."

Mablung smiled back at Idril, before placing a gentle hand on her back and taking the first steps of what would turn out to be a very worthwhile walk indeed.

* * *

Legolas walked over to where his bow and quiver hung on his bedchamber wall. His fingers lightly traced along the lengthy wood of the bow, admiring its colour and smoothness. He looked closer as his fingertip ran over a rough area of the wood, which was created by accident over two thousand years ago. He had dragged his father's bow – now his bow – across the harsh forest ground, too young to comprehend it's worth.

His hands ached to wrap themselves around his bow again, feel its strength, its sturdiness; and just as desperately, his fingers yearned to have the soft sensation of feathers lying between them.

Legolas had not heard his bow sing for many a day. Yet, as much as his hands desperately craved the feeling of wood and feathers, his heart and mind did not comply.

Ever since Idril's leave two days ago, the Prince had been restless and uneasy. They had talked for many hours, but that was not enough for Legolas – the two had once been great friends, and one day together was not nearly enough time for Legolas to appreciate her recurred presence.

He swiftly turned and exited the room.

Legolas strode out through the cave entrance, barely registering the two guards' attendance, in the direction of the stables.

He did not care if what he was doing would upset Thranduil. He was a Prince, and had already seen many centuries pass by – he did not need to follow instructions or rules from his father.

Legolas reached the outside of the stables, and paused in his step. A quick nod was directed at Celoril, a stablehand and messenger of the palace, before Legolas let out a low whistle and watched as Andúnë duly appeared at the entrance. Legolas easily rose onto his steed and gave him a light kick, and without word to Andúnë or to Celoril, he raced along the courtyard and disappeared into the forest.

* * *

Mablung and Idril stopped before the back stairs of the treehouse, and Mablung slowly turned to his daughter.

"There are no more questions that you wish to have answered? Now is most probably your last chance today to do so."

Idril shook her head to this.

"No. I have learned enough for one day."

"I have told you everything. My mind has been set free from a burden that I have carried for too long."

Mablung gave Idril half-smile, and then proceeded up the stairs. Idril followed, but she had only reached the fourth wooden platform before the sound of galloping hooves was heard coming towards them from the forest.

Idril looked up at Mablung, who was staring off into the woods. His eyes quickly glanced down at hers, then resumed their cautious watch on the forest. The sounds of the approaching horse were gradually becoming louder, and Idril's eyes became locked on the slender, rough path between the trees.

A pure white horse trotted into view, with none other than Legolas atop of it. As his eyes rested with Idril's, he gave a kind smile and leapt off Andúnë. His hand gently stroked the horse's cheek as he walked towards Idril, who had made her way back down the steps and was now standing speechlessly before him.

"Good day," said Legolas, reaching out his hand. When Idril took it, he bent down and kissed it lightly, never allowing his eyes to leave hers for a moment.

"Prince, what is it that brings you here this day?" asked Mablung, walking back down the stairs towards the two. Legolas allowed Idril's hand to gently slip out of his grasp, and gave a small bow to Mablung.

"I have come to see Idril. For many long years she was a dear friend of mine - one mere day is not enough time to try to be as we once were."

"That is well," replied Mablung through a smile.

"I should like for us to spend the day together, if that can be possible," Legolas continued. "Yet only if you will allow it, Mablung."

To this, Mablung laughed, the chuckles coming from deep within his throat.

"If you are not asking for her hand in marriage, my Prince, then there is no point in requesting any form of permission from me. She is standing not two feet from you," he said, leaning to one side on his cane, and with a smirk curling one end of his mouth. "I should think that if it is someone's permission that you so desire, it would be hers."

Legolas gave a joyous chuckle at Mablung's words, before turning to face Idril.

"I am sorry. I suppose it has been many winters since we were young friends – I am not used to you being so independent."

Idril smiled in return.

"It is all right. To be honest, that fact that you are my Prince constantly escapes my memory. As a child and young Elf, you did not have nearly as much authority as you do now; it is strange, in a sense."

"Well, things have changed, as they inevitably do," Legolas replied.

Mablung watched as the two exchanged warm, knowing smiles. Idril's gaze lowered bashfully from Legolas' eyes, before slowly bringing it back up to find his piercing blue gaze still firmly fixed upon her face. Mablung noted something in his daughter's eye – an unfamiliar sense seeping within them. A sense of true happiness shone through, mingled with something else.

'_It could not be—no,'_ he thought, watching Idril closely. Yet, his suspicions were proved right, when Legolas leaned forward, and ever so carefully ran his finger along a strand of Idril's hair, gently shifting it away from her face. For the first time in all his long life, Mablung could see in his daughter's eyes – eyes that had shed many a tear, eyes that had watched a lonely life slowly pass by – the unmistakable look of pure love.

Whether she knew it or not, the Elf of Yávië was falling.

* * *

Thranduil's brisk walking found him entering the Garden, where Irethel looked up at him from the book that she was reading.

"Have you seen Legolas anywhere recently?" he asked, his eyes quickly scanning his environment. Irethel shook her head.

"Not since daybreak. Why?"

"No reason, my love," came her innocently toned reply. Irethel sighed, and lay the book on her lap.

"Thranduil, you know where he is. I know that you hold some vain hope that he is not with her, but Celoril tells me that Legolas rode away at around midday without an explanation. Where else would he go but to her?"

Thranduil's head dropped in defeat, then sat by Irethel on the bench.

"I know," he said quietly. "But a father can hope that his son is merely going for a ride through the woods."

Irethel chuckled at Thranduil's comically hopeful expression, before laying a hand over his, and grasping it firmly as support.

* * *

Legolas watched closely as Idril rose onto Andúnë behind him, settling herself and placing her hands lightly upon the sides of Legolas' stomach. He could feel her deep and unsure breaths against his back.

"I apologise, Legolas, for my unfamiliarity with horses."

Her voice was quite anxious, yet light-hearted, and Legolas laughed at her words.

"Do not be sorry," he replied warmly. He grasped both her hands, and pulled them around his waist. "Andúnë is a good horse, and I trust him with my life. Just hold on, and I assure you that you will be safe."

His words comforted Idril, and her arms relaxed around his body. Legolas met Mablung's eyes, and noted the uneasiness within them.

"Do not worry. She will be back before dusk," he said through a smile, trying to ease Mablung's obviously worried mind. Mablung managed to push a smile onto his lips, before farewelling the twosome with a quick nod and walking up the back stairs of the treehouse. Behind him, he could hear Legolas' white horse moving casually into the forest, carrying with it the two Elves.

Eldanén looked up as Mablung entered through the corridor, glancing swiftly around the room, before meeting his son's eyes with his own.

"Eldanén, where is your mother?"

"She is in her bedroom."

"And Ibigovia?"

"She is with her," Eldanén replied after a short hesitation.

Mablung expressed his gratitude towards his son with a quick nod and a smile. He began to make his way to the bedroom, but for a small voice behind him, that hindered his step.

"Father?"

Mablung looked back at Eldanén, who had now risen from his chair; the book he was reading still firmly grasped in his little hand.

"Yes? What is it?"

Eldanén opened his mouth to speak, only to falter. Mablung watched as Eldanén's lips shut, a weak smile forming upon them, and he shook his head.

"Nothing. It does not matter."

With this, Mablung walked into the bedroom, leaving Eldanén in solitude again.

Ibby was sitting at the head of the large bed; her legs sprawled out before her. Garhirel was also seated upon it, daintily perched on the foot of the bedspread, listening to Ibby's tale. However, as they noticed Mablung's presence, they both fell silent and looked at him expectantly. It was Garhirel who first spoke.

"Where is Idril? Did she not go for a walk with you?"

"Yes, she did; and I am here to tell you now that she will be returning later."

"Later?" asked Ibby, her eyebrows raising.

"What do you mean by that?" Garhirel inquired, although if asked, she could have accurately guessed the answer to her question.

"We met the Prince," replied Mablung, with a faint trace of worry evident in his voice. "He has taken Idril on his horse, and they are both now somewhere in the forest."

Garhirel laughed brightly at this news, and she jumped up from the bed. Ibby's expression, however, looked as though it wanted to be excited, yet was clouded over by a strong sense of sudden realisation and concern.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Garhirel. "How lovely for the Prince to take an interest in _our_ daughter! And Idril of all people…"

Neither Mablung nor Ibby particularly noticed Garhirel's last rude comment – they were too deep in their own troubled thoughts. As their gazes met, both knew exactly what the other was thinking. Whether thousands of years old or a mere thirteen, it was clear to those who knew of the Yávië that the situation at hand was not nearly as glorious as others were making it out to be.

* * *

"So, Idril, it did not take much to persuade you to join me today," said Legolas, tilting his head back towards Idril, so that she could hear.

"I suppose," she replied, smiling lightly.

"Any reason as to why?" he asked casually, noting the smile in Idril's voice. Behind him, he could sense her mind deep in thought about his question. After a long, yet still comfortable, moment of silence, Idril spoke.

"I don't know."

As she spoke those words, he could sense her surprise at the realisation of the truth that, on a whim, she had just accepted Legolas' outing proposal, and ridden into the forest with him without hesitation.

With this, Legolas surprised himself, when he recognised that it was so easy for him to know what Idril was thinking about and how she was feeling. His mind was effortlessly at one with Idril's emotions – an unfamiliar sensation for the Prince indeed.

Idril's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Where exactly are we headed?"

A smile flashed onto Legolas' face.

"I know as much about that as you do," he replied. "I figured we'd just head northwards and keep going."

Idril laughed at Legolas' words. She moved her head closer to his, beaming.

"You were always like this, you know."

Legolas chuckled, dropped his head down and nodded, thinking back to old times.

"Yes, I remember. You, however, were always the one who wished to make plans," he said through a grin.

"Well, they are necessary for walking around the Mirkwood forest."

"Perhaps, but they take some of the fun out of exploring. We did that a lot, and you always insisted we take along a map of some sort."

"In my defence, having a plan saved us from becoming lost."

Legolas could think of no retort to this, so allowed his silence to confess his defeat. Satisfied, Idril leaned back from Legolas, smiling widely. She took a moment to enjoy the feel of the horse beneath her, and the warmth radiating into her hands from Legolas' body – her hands had not moved from his sides since they had begun their journey.

"If plans are a necessity, as you say they are, then why have you not brought some with you today?" asked Legolas. Even so, he knew the answer: he knew Idril too well, and did not need to hear the answer – he just wanted to hear her admit to it.

There was silence behind him for a minute before he heard her speak.

"I like not having them. I enjoy being with you, with your spontaneity. It is what drew me to you when we first met - how different you are to me, yet somehow so alike. You fascinate me."

She watched as Legolas whispered soft Elvish words to Andúnë and gently patted his neck. Andúnë came to a stop, and Legolas hopped off his back, landing gracefully upon the ground. Looking up at Idril, he offered her his hand. Taking it, she jumped off the horse. As her feet encountered the ground, she found herself standing just a little too close to Legolas, her hand tightly wrapped around his. Yet, she did not feel uneasy or awkward. It did not take long for her to realise that she felt safe and warm, standing within one foot of her Prince.

Legolas slowly moved towards Idril, silently closing the gap between their bodies.

Suddenly, Idril yanked away; hating herself for doing so, but quickly being forgiving. She glanced up at Legolas, whose weak smile could not disguise the heartbreak within his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, using the only words that could come to mind. Legolas just lightly seized her hand and smiled warmly.

"Come. I hate having to talk to you without actually seeing you."

Idril clutched his hand tightly, returning the kind smile, and so it was that the friends continued on their leisurely journey through the forest.

* * *

Thranduil opened the book in his hands to a randomly selected page, reading the words until his eyes came across a particularly interesting set of sentences.

'_Meleth; avofaro an han, as telitha allen. Hebo tirith, a no i lass cuil lín ú-firitha.'_

He let out a deep sigh, knowing exactly what they meant. They were words that haunt Elves of Yávië, always serving as a reminder of their affliction. His thoughts wandered to Idril and Mablung, and what it must be like for them to live whilst hoping with all hopes that Idril would never fall in love. For if she did, they would both succumb to the power of the Yávië.

And as for himself – for now, he had to live whilst desperately longing for Legolas' interest in Idril to pass. True, they had not seen one another for many long years, yet Thranduil could see the look in his son's eye as soon as he heard the mention of her name. If he was not mindful, Legolas could very well be the cause for the Yávië Elves' downfall.

He read over the sentences once more, his despair growing with each word.

'_Love; do not look for it, it may find you. Be careful, and may the leaves of your life tree never die.'_


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

_It was a cold day in Edoras, although the sun was still shining warmly from above, falling upon the mountainous landscape and leaving long, grey shadows._

_In one quaint home, on the outskirts of the township, a small family was busy getting ready for a trip that would take them many miles Northwards._

"_Where are we going? Tell me, mama!"_

_Ibigovia laughed as she watched her daughter bounce up and down on her toes in front of her._

"_Calm down!" she exclaimed, placing her hands on Ibby's shoulders to cease her jumping. Leaning forward, she kissed her daughter's forehead, then looked down at her._

"_Mirkwood is where we are headed."_

_Ibby scrunched her nose._

"_Mirkwood? Isn't that a long way away? How long will it take to get there? Can Redher come? What do I pack?"_

_Ibigovia threw her head backward, her long blonde tresses falling down her back, and laughed merrily._

"_Yes, it is far, but we will take Thrymma. He is a good, strong horse, and will be able to carry most of our luggage for us. It will take at the very least twenty nights, so be sure to pack lots of warm clothing and blankets, and no, Redher can not come."_

"_Why not?"_

"_I am sure that he has many things to do here in Edoras, little one." She looked towards the front door of their home to see a little boy's head peeping around the doorframe. "Why don't you go and play with him, while I pack for you."_

"_Thank you, mama!" Ibby cried, as she ran over to the door, greeting Redher._

_A tall, blonde man walked inside, watching in amusement as the two children ran off to play._

"_Has she packed yet?" he asked, gesturing outside towards Ibby with his thumb._

"_No, I will do it for her. Who knows what sorts of unnecessary things she would want to bring."_

_The man bent down towards Ibigovia, kissing the top of her head lightly, before heading towards the kitchen._

"_I'll pack the food," he said, walking through the doorframe. Ibigovia opened a cupboard door and perused its contents of blankets and other wool items._

"_Geollyn?" she called, interrupting her search._

"_Mm?"_

"_Make sure to pack enough food. It is a long journey to the palace of Mirkwood." _

_Geollyn walked out from the kitchen, stood beside his wife for a moment, then took a few pieces of cloth from one of the shelves before facing her._

"_Are they expecting us?"_

"_Well, no, not particularly. Yet it has been long time since I last saw Queen Irethel, so a visit is long overdue. I am sure that they will not mind."_

_Ibigovia picked a thick, grey blanket from out of the cupboard._

"_Besides, I should very much like for Ibby to see Mirkwood for what it really is – a place of ancient beauty. Oh, and she __**must**__ meet Irethel."_

_Geollyn walked back into the kitchen, selecting foods from the pantry in there and wrapping them in the pieces of cloth. Ibigovia began to fold the blanket in her hands, and spoke loudly in Geollyn's direction._

"_Did you know that last time I saw her – Irethel, that is – Ibby was not born, so she has not seen her fully grown yet. I'm sure that she would love to."_

_She put the now-folded blanket into a leather bag that was sitting on the table beside her._

"_She has her own child of course, but even when Ibby did not exist, he was fully grown. She'd be so happy to have a small child running around the place again," she said, and sighed._

_Geollyn returned to the living room, wrapping a loaf of bread in a cloth._

"_And Thranduil? What would he think of an over-spirited girl skipping about his residence?" he asked, a broad smile upon his lips. Ibigovia grinned at Geollyn's comment._

"_They have a large home. I'm sure that he could find a room far enough away from Ibby," she replied, and giggled at the thought of her daughter terrorising Mirkwood's Royal family._

_At that moment, Ibby ran into the house, an upset look upon her face and mud covering the front of her dress and parts of her head._

"_Redher, mama! He pushed me into a mud puddle! He's such a beast, and I hate him!" she cried. Both her parents just stood in silence for a moment, their eyebrows raised, before they began laughing. An angry look came about her mud-clad face._

"_Not a moment ago you so anxiously wanted to play with him," stated Ibigovia through her chuckles._

"_Yes, that was before he shoved me!" She looked down at herself and grimaced. "I'm going to go down to the river to get myself clean again."_

_Ibigovia laughed gaily. She stroked the parts of Ibby's hair that were clean, before wiping off some of the mud that was on her forehead. She bent down and held Ibby's cheeks in her hands. The large, oval-shaped black ring on her finger shone in the sunlight seeping through a window._

"_I love you, little one."_

_She bent forward and kissed Ibby's forehead._

"_Go down to the river then. And if Redher pushes you again, you just tell us and your father will take care of it," she said with a wink. Ibby chuckled, left her mother's arms and walked outside, in the direction of the river._

"_She is a good girl," Ibigovia heard Geollyn say behind her, before wrapping his arms around his wife's shoulders. Ibigovia smiled, and turned around to face him._

"_Come on, we have lots to pack and not a lot of time to do it."_

_

* * *

_Ibby and Mablung sat alone on the bed; Ibby occasionally taking a strand of her thick hair and plaiting it, still listening intently to what Mablung was saying about Idril and Legolas' renewed relationship.

Ever since she had heard the brief description of the ways of the Elves of Yávië, Ibby had felt a new maturity settle itself in her spirit. Now that she knew of the Yávië, she had a craving to know of all the secrets of the world – of its creatures, histories, villains past and present, and environments, even if it meant talking to the elderly trees and age-old earth.

She put this down to the recent company of so many Elves, and the strange effect that they had on many beings of the world, be they those with two legs or four, roots or petals.

A deep sigh from Mablung coursed through her mind, gently ending her thoughts. She gazed upon the wise Elf, who had ventured deeply into his head's own world, and whose eyes had glazed over, forbidding any sights of the real world to register in his thoughts.

After long moments of silence, Ibby could take the stillness between them no longer and spoke.

"So what do we do?"

Even with his mind still for the most part in its world, Mablung answered, his eyes still with no direct gaze.

"I am not sure. She is falling for the Prince, that I know. Whether or not _she_ knows it and how we can end this are different matters entirely."

Again, silence befell.

"Mother would know what to do," she said softly, before sighing sadly. "Yes, mama would know."

* * *

Two Elves walked through the dense forest hand in hand, and spoke in a low voice: they did not wish to disturb the sound slumber of the trees around them.

Legolas gazed up in wonder at one notably large tree, which was knotted and bent with age.

"Standing by these make me feel youthful again, which is a feeling not experienced by myself for many years now," he said, gently stroking the hard wood of the trunk, his other hand still lightly clasping Idril's own.

"Verily. They have experienced many more dark times than we. Some have even lived for so long that they witnessed the First Age's passing," Idril replied.

They stood in silence, Andúnë patiently waiting a few feet away. It was Legolas who first broke the silence.

"When did you first become aware that you could speak freely with the trees?" he asked, not allowing his gaze to slide from its view of the looming tree before himself and Idril.

"When I was ten years old, I received – well – a rather nasty shock. Understanding that I could openly communicate with the forest – my home – was something that had not entered my mind ever before."

"And I suppose now, you thank the day that you received that gift."

Idril smirked and laughed softly, instantly lifting the mood of the woods around them.

"Yes, in a sense. That was the day that I gained many of my best friends in this world."

After she finished speaking, her hand quickly left its hold on Legolas' and placed itself upon her chest, as dry coughs forced their way out of her mouth. Legolas looked on with concern, wrapping an arm firmly around her shoulders to keep her stable as she began to bend over slightly, while the sound of her heavy coughs filled the wood around them.

Suddenly she ceased, and immediately began gasping for air.

All Legolas could do while she calmed herself was hold her steadily and stroke her hair, in a futile attempt to make her better again, while speaking soft Elvish words to ease her mind.

Soon after, she was breathing steadily once more, and regained her posture.

"Are you—what happened? Why, I mean, h—are you feeling well now?" Legolas asked, frantically checking her over to assure himself that she was indeed well.

"Yes, yes," she replied with a casual wave of her hand. "Yes, I am fine. I do not know what that was," she continued, adding an empty chuckle to the end of her words.

Despite Idril's insisting, Legolas still looked upon her with care and worry, yet permitted his arm to drop from its place around her shoulders. Idril gave him a weak smile to show that there was nothing wrong. That simple gesture lied more deeply than any words.

* * *

"_Father, we are going out-"_

"_Are you taking any horses?"_

"_No, should we?"_

"_I would prefer it, Legolas."_

"_But Idril does not know how to ride one."_

"_Take one anyway, for the protection."_

"_Protection? Father, I'm old enough to protect both myself and Idril in a harmless wood."_

_Thranduil raised his eyebrows at this. Legolas stood at the doorway, ready to exit, with Idril by his side. Thranduil inspected his fully unarmed son, who was dressed in a plain brown tunic with soft shoes._

"_Legolas, the forest of Mirkwood is nowhere near harmless – for one who has not yet seen two decades of the world pass by, anyhow. Look at you – you are dressed plainly, and you are a young Prince: an easy and much-desired target for those who are not our allies. And where are your manners? You have a woman accompanying you. Should anything happen, I am sure that you would wish for her safety above your own."_

"_Yes, we will take a horse!" cried Legolas before his father could continue with his lecture. Idril walked over to Mablung, who was standing quietly by Thranduil, and gave him a quick kiss._

"_We will be back before dusk." Then, turning to Thranduil, she curtsied. "I thank you, Lord, for the lending of one of your great horses."_

_Thranduil smiled at Idril as she made her way back to Legolas._

"_See, Legolas? An example of nice, proper manners."_

_Legolas just threw his father a smile, before grabbing Idril's hand and leading her outside._

_Thranduil watched the doors close, then turned to Mablung._

"_Now, what was it that you wished to tell me?"_

"_Perhaps we can take a walk while discussing this," replied Mablung, and started walking towards the Hall, Thranduil beside him. "You know that I consider you a friend, as well as my King, and I believe that you deserve to know something."_

_Thranduil nodded._

"_Your Highness, do you know of the Elves of Yávië?"_

_Thranduil's brow furrowed, yet still he nodded again in understanding._

"_Well, yes, but they are just a legend."_

_Mablung ceased his step and turned to Thranduil. Reading his eyes was all Thranduil needed to do, and immediately no more words would have need been said._

"_I see," he said after allowing himself a moment for this new knowledge to sink in. Mablung remained silent while Thranduil thought longer about the matter. Comprehension of what Mablung's words meant slowly crept into his eyes._

"_So, that then means that all children follow, becoming Elves of Yávië themselves."_

"_True, yet not necessarily in this case, should I have more children as some may not follow in my bloodline. But certainly, Idril is subject to the Yávië. There was a chance that she would not live a life alike to mine, as my wife is not of the Yávië. Yet, five years ago, the opposite was confirmed."_

_Thranduil nodded, serious concentration upon his face._

"_How was this confirmed?"_

_Mablung began walking once more, and Thranduil joined him._

"_Come, my Lord. There is much that you must know, although you must swear upon everything that you cherish that this will remain behind your closed lips."_

"_Of course."_

_

* * *

_Thranduil's swift strides allowed him quick access to the stables, where he jumped upon his horse and led it out to the courtyard.

Idril would not tell Legolas the truth, that was certain. She would not even talk about much remotely related to it. The Elves of Yávië were known to keep their secret in their hearts only, never speaking it to anyone, save the trees.

'_Legolas deserves the truth,'_ he thought. _'And I must deliver it to him as swiftly as possible.'_

With that, he whispered Elvish instructions to the horse, and almost at once it picked up a speedy pace and entered the forest.

He did not care that he would interrupt their journey; all he wanted was to get Legolas away from Idril. She was a nice girl certainly, but Thranduil did not want his son and heir to his throne becoming too attached to one who could only bring heartache to those who loved her.

He bent forwards on the horse, whispering more words into its ear. It hastened immediately, gracefully weaving its way through the myriad of trees in the forest.

* * *

From Idril's lips, there came a genuinely joyous laugh.

"I remember that, I do! We were so proud of it. None of the elders found it particularly amusing, however."

Legolas smiled at the memory, and at the sound of Idril's laugh, which seemed to somehow please the trees surrounding them, as it seemed to Legolas that they became less crippled and had a warmer glow to their leaves.

He turned and watched her as she walked beside him, her hand now back with his.

'_She is fascinating.'_

Subconsciously his hand tightened around Idril's, bringing an airy smile to her face when she realised this.

Their comfortable silence was interrupted by the faint sound of hooves approaching, and they halted. Idril looked up at Legolas, but his gaze remained focused ahead, in the direction of the sound. Behind them, Andúnë's ears had pricked up, and he, like Legolas, was remaining solely focused on the approaching creature.

A dark brown horse with Thranduil atop of it came into view and, upon sight of Legolas and Idril, slowed down. Legolas watched in disbelief as the horse approached them and Thranduil jumped off.

Without waiting for a greeting from either of the younger Elves, he walked behind them and gave Andúnë a quick pat on the neck.

"Legolas, I need you back at home."

Still, Legolas said nothing. Noting the silence from his son, Thranduil faced him.

"I am terribly sorry. It is urgent. You will understand once I talk to you, so, I need you back at the palace, please."

Not leaving any time for Legolas to respond, he faced Idril and bowed his head very slightly.

"Good day, Idril. Once again, my sincerest apologies." She gave him a curtsy, before he turned to Legolas again. "I am glad that I caught up to you while you were still close to Mablung's home. Please say your farewells, and we can be off."

As Thranduil walked towards his horse, Legolas could find no words to say, except for one desperate, shocked cry.

"Father! I can do as I please."

Thranduil's eyes bore into his, trying desperately to convince Legolas of the seriousness of his words.

"I need you, now. It is very important."

Legolas could clearly see that what Thranduil needed him for was indeed of much importance, but this did not waver the aggravation he held towards his father. Sighing, he turned back to Idril, and did not wonder at how his hands somehow found themselves wrapping around hers.

"I apologise deeply. I did not know that this was going to happen, and I wish it had not."

Idril smiled warmly, which triggered a response similar from Legolas.

"I will see you again, and soon," he affirmed to her.

Idril nodded.

"That would be nice."

Slowly, Legolas released his grip on her hands, then walked over to Andúnë and leapt up onto his back. Thranduil and his horse began moving through the forest, and Legolas followed, giving Idril one last farewell glance. With that, she began walking back home.

Legolas followed behind Thranduil through the forest in silence for long, slow amounts of time. Eventually, his curiosity overcame his frustration, and Legolas hastened Andúnë's speed. Andúnë trotted until he was beside Thranduil, where he matched the pace of the King's horse.

"What is so important that you came racing out here to pry me away from a friend?"

To Legolas' surprise, Thranduil laughed at his question.

"A friend? Is that what she is to you?"

Confused, Legolas answered.

"Yes. Why would she not be?"

Thranduil shot Legolas a sideways glance, before focusing ahead again.

"We will talk about this when we return home."

In response, Legolas halted Andúnë, causing Thranduil to cease his horse's movement also. He looked upon the stubborn Legolas with surprise, and irritation.

"I want to know now."

Thranduil sighed in exasperation.

"I should have known you would have been like this."

Legolas' face still held the same stubbornness, determination and resolution; such that Thranduil knew that it would be impossible for him to sway his son's decision.

"It is about Idril."

Instantly, Legolas' face softened visibly at hearing her name.

"There is something that you do not know, and I feel that you must, if you wish to pursue this friendship of yours."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Legolas cautiously. He was interested in what his father had to say, yet at that time, he did not feel like trusting him too wholeheartedly.

"She has a secret," replied Thranduil, lowering the intensity of his voice, as though he did not want even the forest to hear what he had to say. "A secret that no one should know, with the exception of those very close to her."

Legolas was still too annoyed at his father to take what he was saying very seriously.

"Father, if she has a secret that only those very close to her should know," he said, repeating his father, "then what right have I to know it? I would rather allow her her privacy than satisfy my curiosity."

"It is not as though you two are not very close!" exclaimed Thranduil, becoming bothered by his son's determination to not make this discussion an easy one. "You _have_ been very close to her, and I am certain that you _will_ be in the foreseeable future."

Thranduil's words caught Legolas' attention, and he made eye contact with his father for the first time since they set out.

"How do you know that?"

Without thinking about what he was going to say, Thranduil answered Legolas' question.

"How do I know that? Legolas! You talk about her everyday, you go against my wishes merely so that you can see her, and I have seen the way that you look at her. If anyone were to see that look in your eyes when she is near you, they would not need be sorry for thinking that you love her and that you two were a married couple. You act almost as I did when I first saw Irethel…"

Legolas stopped listening to his father after those three words:

"…y_ou love her…"_

Thranduil paused his words as he noticed a strange look come about his son's face. He had retreated into his mind, dwelling on his own private thoughts now and not paying any attention at all to his father. His eyes darted back and forth, not resting upon anything, but rather they were roaming through his mind's world.

"Legolas? Legolas!" called Thranduil impatiently; pulling Legolas back out from his thoughts.

Legolas now stared at Thranduil, neither of them speaking a word, both of them trying to make sense of what Legolas was thinking. Finally, Legolas spoke, the faintest of all smiles sneaking onto his lips.

"I love her."

These three words – the words that Thranduil had forever hoped that he would never hear coming from the mouth of his son and used with respect to Idril, the Elf of Yávië – took Thranduil completely aback.

"**What**?"

But before he could ask more questions or protest, Legolas quickly turned Andúnë around and bolted back towards Idril's home.

Thranduil's cries of protest were blocked from reaching Legolas' ears due to the rushing of the wind past his head, and the repetition of those words constantly running through his mind.

"_I love her."_

These short, simple words spurred him on like no other thing in the world.

He was determined to find Idril, and tell her what his heart had kept secret from him for many thousands of years.

* * *

Idril wandered slowly through the forest, in the general direction of her home – she was in no hurry, as the day was still young.

Her thoughts turned to Legolas, as they had been doing quite often of late. Lately, thoughts of him would quickly replace those of Eldanén, Mablung, the willow tree, and of the Yávië. She never took much notice of that truth, and just put it down to the excitement of being with an old friend again.

She genuinely looked forward to seeing him again.

'_He makes me feel… safe. Like nothing wrong is going to happen in the world. Somehow, when I am with him, the sun seems to shine more brightly, and the world is not such a dark place. Why is it now that my days pass as a countdown to when I am going to see him again? _

'_I can talk freely to him about anything I want. Oh, I love that. Moreover, he takes an interest in what I have to say.'_

Here, a wide smile spread across her face.

'_I cannot wait until I see him again. He feels like my only true friend in the world.'_

She looked around her at the tall trees.

'_He knows me better than these trees even.'_

She shook her head lightly, ridding these thoughts from her mind.

'_I must not let him control my thoughts as much as he does.'_

However, although she turned her mind to other matters than the Prince, the smile upon her face did not fade, nor did the twinkle in her eye.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Legolas whispered Elvish words to Andúnë, instructing his horse's pace to swiftly hasten. Wind whipped past his head, threatening to rip out his silver hair clasp. His surroundings were a blur as they sped by him. Although Idril was hardly far away, his desire to tell her of his love was too much for him to take his time in delivering.

Soon, he could see Idril standing before him with a confused look upon her face – a cantering horse in a forest is not the quietest of all beasts, and her elven ears would have picked up the sounds as soon as they began. He slowed Andúnë to a trot, and before he was even five yards away from her, jumped off from the moving horse.

He quickly advanced towards Idril until he stood before her, their bodies so close to touching.

For a long while, both Legolas and Idril said nothing as Legolas' eyes smiled upon her face. He raised his hand to brush away stray hair from her face, and smiled when she did not flinch in the slightest when his fingers came into contact with her skin.

Leaving his hand placed softly upon her cheek, he uttered what his heart and mind had been repeating to themselves, until they were now unable to keep the words unsaid.

"I love you, Idril."

Speaking these words aloud, he felt a release of bliss and relief now that she knew. Her reaction to this, however, was definitely not what Legolas had expected.

For moments that lasted for too long, Idril did not move, her blank face and eyes merely staring at Legolas, no dominant emotion within them. Eventually, she withdrew from Legolas, allowing his hand to drop from its position on her cheek.

A mass of words stormed through her head as her eyes remained fixed emptily upon Legolas.

"_Your friendship is dead."_

"_I almost kissed him."_

"_My father and I are… somewhat different to the other Elves."_

"_Falling in love will only end in punishment."_

"_Love; do not look for it, it may find you. Be careful, and may the leaves of your life tree never die."_

She soon found herself turning away from Legolas and walking back down the path, her mind vainly trying to pretend that Legolas' declaration had never been uttered.

Legolas watched after her, utterly confused, before deciding to follow her as she moved away from him.

"Idril? Wait! Stop. Please! What's the matter?"

As this failed, and Idril continued walking, Legolas ran in front of her, forcing her steps to cease. For the first time since he had reached her, Legolas could see emotion in Idril's face: she was scared, yet her eyes were still empty of all expression. She did not look at him, instead focusing her gaze upon the ground beyond him.

"Idril," he said quietly, enough to make her lift her gaze up slowly to meet his eyes.

Legolas' hand very gently lay itself upon Idril's hip, and his intense gaze bore right into Idril's eyes.

"I love you," he said matter-of-factly, nodding his head slightly. He spoke the only words that he thought seemed fitting at the time, and desperately wanting Idril to believe the truth behind his words.

It was then that a delicate mixture of sadness and sympathy washed into Idril's deep brown eyes. Joining this was the threat of tears, and as her eyes began to sting, she lowered her head. Not without effort, she spoke for the first time.

"I think I need to go home."

Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Idril had raised a finger near to his lips, and he reluctantly granted her her obvious wish for silence. She brought her eyes up to meet his. The pleading look in her face was enough to convince Legolas to simply nod his head in acknowledgment of her wishes and take a small step back from her. Their eyes remained locked for some time, before Idril turned and continued along the path towards her home.

As he watched her go, he became aware of the sounds of a horse growing nearer – had he not been so preoccupied with Idril, he would have paid more heed to them as soon as they had begun. It was not long before Thranduil came into view through the trees and upon seeing his son, he slowed his horse and came to a stop near where Legolas was patting Andúnë's side.

"Let's go home, father," was Legolas' irritated answer to Thranduil's quizzical look. He jumped onto Andúnë and without a word, began to move along the path.

To this, Thranduil decided to say nothing, and followed the grim and solemn Legolas back through the forest to their abode.

* * *

In the treehouse, there was a strange sense of stillness filling the rooms. It was not strange in the sense that it was unusual, for indeed there had been many times when the entire house had stood still even when filled with life. This had in turn become quite a regular thing, as all members of the family found themselves retreating into their minds and living in their thoughts. No, this time was no different, except for the strange uneasiness that hung in the air, rendering all beings in the home uncomfortable.

Mablung was sitting in his armchair, a usual position to find him in, yet he was not reading to himself nor to Eldanén or Ibby; he was not even thinking. All life in his body was dwelling in his mind, leaving his eyes to glaze over and appear almost lifeless. This silence of his was what set Ibby and Garhirel at ill ease; both were reading, yet neither were extracting pleasure from this. Eldanén was busy out in the forest somewhere, trying to teach himself how to talk to the trees, although he had told his mother otherwise. Idril was yet to come back from her walk with the Prince.

Without warning, Mablung doubled over in his chair, grinding coughs forcing themselves out of his mouth. Immediately, Garhirel ran over to her husband, who was near falling out of his chair. She crouched and caught his body just in time to stop his body slipping off the seat. She supported his full weight as his body succumbed to the violent hacks.

At first, Garhirel had attempted to talk to Mablung, yet as she soon found out that he was unable to reply, she went silent and tried to overcome her desire to panic. Ibby watched on, at first in shock, but now in unfortunate understanding.

She watched as Mablung slowly managed to pull a few breaths in between his coughing, and gain a little of his strength back. Yet, no matter how much this comforted Garhirel, Ibby's mind remained in a silent state of chaos. She sifted through her brain, knowing that there was an answer for this and that she knew it. Soon, a recent conversation with two unique Elves came back to her.

"Mablung is sick. That means that the Willow is… um, oh… sick as well, I suppose," Ibby muttered to herself, her words being drowned out by the loud, albeit calmer, noises of Mablung. "Well that means that… oh, Ibby, _think_! It must mean that-" Here, her mumbling was cut short by a quick realisation.

'_Idril has to be in love, then.'_

Ibby brought her eyes up to see Mablung now sitting as erectly as he could, Garhirel fussing over him, smoothing back his long hair and stroking his face – a very sweet gesture for her, considering what she had been told about Garhirel by Idril. After a few minutes of being comforted by Garhirel, and gaining back easy breaths, Mablung sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Are you all right?" Garhirel asked, standing up, concern in her eyes. She had never seen her husband in that state before, and it had certainly alarmed her to see it. Mablung answered this with a smile and a nod, and Garhirel trotted off into the kitchen.

Mablung's eyes locked with Ibby's, and he nodded, knowing instantly what it was that Ibby was thinking and confirming it. With dread filling her eyes, she lowered her head, racking her brain for any solutions to this newly posed problem, yet knowing that she never could, no matter how hard she tried.

Garhirel returned with water for Mablung. Idril entered minutes later and immediately sat down at a chair with a book, no one speaking to her for she spoke to no one, and only Mablung and Ibby having the closest idea of what it was that was the cause of the distressed look upon her face.

* * *

Meanwhile, beneath a young tree an even younger Eldanén sat. His eyes were closed tightly in earnest concentration and his lips formed soft whispered pleadings to the tree that he was leaning against. All that responded to him, however, were the falling red leaves as they tumbled over his body on the way to the ground, joining the myriad of others that had fallen during the Autumn.

"Please speak to me," he begged. He waited in silence, hoping for some sign that the tree had heard his plea. There was none. He took a deep breath.

"Please, please. I need to speak to someone. I don't understand what is happening."

His words grew in desperation through the sentence. His eyes squeezed more firmly together as he tried to increase his concentration on communicating with the tree.

No response came. His teeth clenched in agitation and desperation, and he bent his full application towards trying to be "at one" with the tree – as his sister had once described it, using that most unusual term. He thought of her now; sad that she was not by his side, aiding him, and angry that the thought of her had hindered the process of talking to this (now much-disliked) tree.

He tried once more, his voice grating with sheer desperation.

"_Please_. No one else will understand," – he said this part rather forcefully for one so young, and the intensity and volume of his voice rose with every word. "You are the only one! I'm scared. Now, help me!"

His last demand was shouted loudly, and such was the power that it seemed as though all life in the forest was stilled, even the falling of the leaves from above.

His eyes snapped open, surprised – and in a way, delighted – at the strength of his own words. He listened to the silence that was suspended in the air, and slowed his breathing, and thus his heartbeat, before hanging his head in defeat. Life slowly returned to the forest: a frail wind wound around the trees once more, and some leaves dared to make the long journey downwards to their doom, joining others.

Eldanén's hand found its way down to his stomach. Here it was that worry once again crossed Eldanén's face as his fingers carefully drew a shape on his shirt. He bravely lifted the cloth and stole a look at the thing on his stomach that had finally brought him out here, desperate to know answers about it and too scared to ask any one else.

He pushed his shirt back over his stomach, not wishing to look at it any longer. And thus, he gave up, stood, and began his return to the treehouse.

* * *

The arrow cut through the air until it embedded itself into the very heart of the target. Legolas followed this with a second arrow landing barely a millimetre from the first, precisely where he had aimed for it to dig into the wood. He had been refining his archery skills for the better part of the day now, and had re-used his arrows and target hundreds of times, enjoying the solitude of being in a forest with naught but a bow for company.

This should have been a very calming activity, but throughout the day, his mind had often wandered to thoughts of yesterday's afternoon with Idril, and her response to what he had said.

_Thud._

Another arrow flew into the bullseye.

He hadn't thought much about what had happened, for every time he did, a feeling of both pain and anger filled his heart. He didn't mean to be angry at her…

_Thud._

…But really, there were no other emotions that could compensate for the heartache of being refused the right to love someone. After all, not long ago, he had told her about his strong desire for love! Could she not have shown even the least bit of care?

_Thud._

He figured that perhaps his anger at her was to overpower his woe, yet he did not take this into considerable account. He was thankful to his father, however, for leaving him be and ordering that no one contact him until Legolas expressed permission.

He swiftly notched an arrow to the bow and took aim.

Did he miss her presence?

_Thud._

The arrow landed slightly off-course, causing Legolas' frustration to increase, and he felt his body go tense. Yet this did not stop him from wondering about the question. She was a lovely woman, and certainly, he had enjoyed spending time with her, but he had never thought that she could be so cruel. She had hurt him deeply, and what's more, she knew it! Did she even care about that?

_Thud._

At seeing the arrow land more off-course than the previous, his frustration multiplied, and he hastily set the next arrow upon the string and let it fly.

_Thump._

This one had zipped past the target and landed in the trunk of an unfortunate nearby tree, causing the Prince to emit a short, loud scream, which echoed around the wood. This then allowed Legolas' anger to abruptly dissipate and all the tension in his body to be replaced with a newfound calmness, as he stood in silence and brought his breathing back to a steady rhythm. He sighed and decided that perhaps it was enough practise for one day; and besides, he was out of arrows again.

Moving forward to the target, he plucked the dozen or so arrows from the wood. Glancing at the lone arrow still stuck in the tree trunk, he laughed; his quick outburst had been an excellent source of relief and he noticed that he now felt no agitation left in his body. He gently pulled it out of the tree, and slipped it into his quiver.

He looked up at the sky: it was an off-pink colour and he could see a fraction of the orange sun as it set in the West.

'_An excellent light to take me through the wood,'_ he thought, glancing back into the forest, the slightly orange-tinted old trees too tempting to ignore.

He picked up his bow and strode quickly through the trees back to his home, where he could deposit his weapons before proceeding on a walk through his woods. The beautiful glow would fade soon, and he did not want to miss its departure.

* * *

The Sun had now set, and the forest of Mirkwood was veiled in a dark blue night. It was at this point that Idril inconspicuously slipped outdoors, climbed down the ladder of her treehouse and upon landing on the ground, began to walk along the forest path. Her keen Elven eyes pierced through the dim shroud of darkness.

For the remainder of the past day, after Legolas' rather unexpected announcement, she had kept to herself, and merely poured over all of her favourite stories from Ages long gone. For the entirety of this day, she had done the same, trying drastically not to think back to yesterday.

Mablung and Ibby had remained silent also, not speaking to her unless it was necessary. Little Eldanén had returned in quite an odd mood the previous day, but she did not have the emotional stamina to address this; yet by the time the morning rolled around, he was very nearly back to his normal cheery self. Garhirel, however, had not stopped pestering her for news of the Prince and of their walk. It had taken some time, but Mablung had eventually convinced her not to discuss it.

And now, she was alone at last, the only things watching her being the trees, the birds and the grey moon. Time passed quickly when she was within a world she loved and it was not long before she found herself standing by the slender river. Not ten yards away stood the Old Willow, but she was not here for him.

She stripped off her clothes before the river, letting them drop to the ground in a messy pile around her feet. She advanced towards the quiet water, which was slowly sliding along between the green banks. She closed her eyes in bliss, naked in the moonlight, and breathed in the sweet smells of the riverside. The crispness of the night air helped to clear her mind, which had been bogged down by a cluttered mess for over a day now.

Slowly she opened her eyes, her spirit rejuvenated, and dove into the cool water. As she surfaced, she relished the feeling of the water against her skin, relieved at the way in which it somehow managed to wash away her problems – for the duration of the night, at the least.

When she stood upright, the water reached up to her shoulders, just barely managing to skim over the top of her skin. However, she lowered her body down into the water until it almost reached her nose, wanting to submerge herself in the silkiness of the water as completely as was possible. Her long hair swam about her, occasionally caressing parts of her body as she moved about the river quietly.

Due to the fact that she had not thought about yesterday in great detail, she had still not decided upon what to do about the situation. She would have to think about this soon, and then talk to Legolas about it – this part she would not look forward to – but for tonight, she had promised herself that she would forget it, if only for one night.

Hence just for now, she would forget all, and simply enjoy being surrounded by both smoothly flowing water and a noiseless tranquillity.

Dusk had turned to night, and Legolas' wanderings had brought him to the heart of the wood. At the same time, his mind's rambling had brought him to the conclusion that to be angry at Idril was foolish. She had not specifically said that she did not love him, so what reasons were there for him to suddenly turn around and hate her? He would have to talk to Idril about it – this part he would look forward to – but for tonight, he had promised himself that he would be at one with the forest, reliving all of Mablung's teachings.

Trees sighed around him, a cool wind was blowing, and not far ahead was the sound of the river. This would not usually have been noted by Legolas, as he had walked this path many times before. Yet, it was the strange way in which the water sounded to be moving that struck him as odd. It was not flowing completely smoothly; something was disturbing some of the water flow.

As his curiosity grew, his senses became fully alert of any sights or sounds, and he noiselessly crept towards the river.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

There was only the very dim, blue-hued illumination of night that lit up the forest of Mirkwood. This dark tinge added an air of evil shadow to the trees, yet at the same time managed to display a greater beauty from within them. Yet this went unnoticed by Legolas, as he cautiously wound his way through the trees, heading towards the river.

Water swept before him. He stood for a moment, sceptically watching the river, waiting for repeats of the noises he had heard before. There were none, but in his peripheral vision, a small shape moved against the flow of the river. He walked further down the bank, moving ever closer to the body, dark from the lack of sunlight.

It dove under the water, and as Legolas stopped before it, it rose up from beneath the water swiftly. When her face was revealed, Legolas could say nothing as he stared at the unclothed Idril, who was slicking her wet, dark hair away from her face, eyes closed in bliss. He smiled at her – she looked happy, as she splashed cool water over her head, unaware of Legolas' presence. Although she could not see him, as her eyes were still shut, Legolas shared the moment with her. This peace lasted only but a small instant; it ended when Idril opened her eyes, expecting nothing but dark trees and instead seeing Legolas standing above her, watching her.

"Aah!" she screamed in surprise. It was now that she realised that she had nothing covering her bare body but the water, which did nothing to disguise her nudity as it was pristine and clear.

Legolas smirked as she spun around in the water, hastily searching for anything that would cover her. As she moved about, Legolas thought that he saw something on her stomach – a small mark, barely two inches in height. Yet she moved further into the water and it soon passed out of sight.

'_Perhaps just an illusion in the dark,'_ he told himself, and shook the image from his mind.

As Idril soon found that there was nothing to cover her within reach, she lowered herself in the water until it reached her chin, and crossed her arms over her chest modestly.

Her face a bright pink, she faced Legolas. Though, no words came.

'_This is not how I had imagined our next meeting,'_ she thought.

"Hello," said Legolas, his smile still playing upon his lips, which was beginning to irritate Idril.

'_How can he take this so jovially?'_

Legolas did not move, and nor did Idril. It was only after a long stretch of time that Idril realised that she had been gazing back at Legolas since he had first spoken, lost in his eyes. His eyes' gaze had tunnelled into her own and she was exposing her mind's workings to him involuntarily yet still willingly, allowing his eyes to reach the darkest and deepest expanses of her head. The pure openness of hers shocked Idril greatly, and she wished to remove her gaze from Legolas' eyes, but found that she could not do so. She was granting the most raw act of exposure, and he was doing the same. She did not wish it to end.

Hence, when Legolas swept his tunic off over his head, she did not flinch or feel embarrassed or awkward. His eyes and his presence were now so comforting, so safe, so exciting, that when he removed his black boots and then leggings, she hardly noticed.

He dove into the water, creating a small splash, and what little water was thrown out of the river landed mostly upon Legolas and Idril' garments, which were lying in crumpled heaps by the bank. Idril backed away, giving Legolas room to surface. As he did so, his blonde hair was whisked away from his face, clinging to the back of his neck. His eyes again locked with Idril's and he advanced towards her, his body quietly slipping through the water.

Playfully, she moved backwards, Legolas pursuing her. They continued for a short while until Idril's back met the edge of the riverbank, where Legolas closed in on her and surrounded her body with his long arms. He was now so close that he could feel her warm breath on his face.

Again, the two stared into each other, naked in the dark, and this time apologising wordlessly for the way they had acted but one day ago, and at the same time, forgiving. The two shared a lifetimes' worth of memories and understanding through the contact of their gazes. Idril first broke the connection as her eyes subconsciously flicked down to Legolas' lips. That was all Legolas needed – he tilted his chin forward and tenderly kissed her. To this soft contact of lips, Idril responded sweetly, kissing him also.

After a short while, Legolas pulled away – though only slightly – and watched as Idril's eyelids slowly opened to allow their gazes to interlock again. This did not last long, however, as Idril leaned forward slightly and kissed him once more, this time more deeply. She slid a hand onto the side of his head, and hung the other around his neck. In response, Legolas wrapped his strong arms firmly around her bare waist, pushing his lips onto hers.

He hoisted her body up, so that now her feet could no longer touch the muddy floor. Idril wrapped her pale legs around Legolas' torso to keep her situated firmly within his arms, before disconnecting their lips' embrace and inhaling a much-needed breath. Legolas immediately lowered his head and began assailing her neck, one of his hands running across her back, caressing her skin, the other holding her body firmly to him.

Idril succumbed to passion; or madness, it did not really matter, as both were the same. Her head fell back as she relished the feeling of Legolas' hot kisses against her cool skin. Under the cover of night, Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and Idril, Elf of Yávië, melded body and soul.

* * *

Mablung was alone in the dark house; Idril had disappeared somewhere, as had Eldanén, and Garhirel had taken Ibby for a walk, hoping to help the young girl in gaining back some strength in her leg.

He sat reading, enjoying the silence.

He coughed; just a little cough, and at first it did not worry him. Yet this little cough would not leave, and soon escalated. Mablung dropped his book to the floor as he strived to keep his dry hacking under control. The sound echoed around the treehouse, filling every room, but there was no one to hear it but Mablung himself.

His hand flew to his chest. Soon, he fell out of his chair onto his knees, only barely managing to keep upright as the coughs overtook his body.

He did not have time to wonder what had brought on this sudden outburst – his coughing only stopped once his eyes had rolled back and his body fallen to the floor, unconscious and alone.

Garhirel returned with Ibby minutes after, and upon seeing her collapsed husband, screamed. She put her hand to his forehead, her elven charm trying desperately to revive him as she muttered rhythmically. Ibby watched on in both horror and fascination at the scene before her, and only wished that she could do more than simply stare.

"Idril…" she muttered, shaking her head slightly. She knew what it was that Idril had to have done to make this happen, and did not want to believe how foolish the Elf had been, or that she did not heed the consequences of her deeds. She watched as Garhirel rejoiced once Mablung began to stir, but it did not ease her discomfort. There was near to nothing to stop Mablung from collapsing again or even dying – the only thing that would, would be Idril's common sense.

Her mother's voice floated through her mind, repeating words she had once used in playful regards to her relationship with Ibby's father Geollyn, which were now dangerously true.

'_Common sense: a thing unheard of to fools in love.'_

_

* * *

_Morning shone through the window, and Idril awoke. Upon opening her eyes, she came to a lamentable discovery that she was, indeed, lying in Legolas' bed. She rolled over, only to see a sleeping Legolas laying next to her; one of his arms was limply flung over Idril's body. She peeled the light silk sheets off from her – unfortunately bare – body, and slid out from Legolas' arm and off the bed. She walked across the room and through the already open balcony doors to look out over the forest below. Light sprinkles of rain were falling; creating a mist that rose above the trees and managed to trickle into Legolas' bedroom. The balcony offered a magnificent view, reaching just above the treetops, but she had no time to appreciate this.

Glancing quickly at the position of the sun, she guessed it to be well past dawn, perhaps even four hours since. Her dress from the previous day hung over the balcony fence. She touched it – it was damp from both the morning rain and yesterday's night by the river, after being splashed numerous times and carried back to the palace with wet arms.

She briskly walked back into Legolas' bedroom and to his wardrobe. She opened it, her eyes perusing the contents, before quickly picking one of the plainer styles of men's tunics and taking it out. She threw it on while moving towards the mirror positioned near to the wardrobe. Now facing the mirror, she pulled her long, free hair out from the tunic and let it fall to her back. She sighed and looked at herself in the reflection, also noticing that Legolas was now awake and sitting up in his bed behind her, leaning back on his arms, watching her.

She turned her head to face him, not quite knowing what to say.

"Where are you going?" Legolas asked, as casually as he could muster, yet unable to keep the totality of his disappointment hidden.

Idril turned her head back to the mirror, and began roughly combing her still slightly damp hair with her fingers.

"Home is where I shall go. I will have your tunic returned to you," she replied, and tugged at the tunic, which was hanging off her body loosely, to complement her last sentence. "I am not sure how, but it will be returned as soon as possible, I promise you."

To this, Legolas grinned.

"With you in it?" he asked cheekily and in a low voice.

Idril met his eyes in the mirror and gave him a discerning look, yet her eyes were more distressed than reprimanding. She focused back upon her reflection, though she only stood there, doing her best to avoid Legolas' stare.

"Do not worry about returning my dress. I have many more; that one is not special or valued. Keep it or throw it away, I do not care."

She stepped away from the mirror and looked about the room, before walking to the balcony and granting it a quick examination. Her forehead crinkled, and she turned around, walking back into the bedroom. Legolas was closely watching her move about.

Idril flicked her eyes up to Legolas'.

"I cannot remember: did I bring in shoes yesterday?" she asked, not letting her mind think deeper into that question as it would invariably lead to memories of the night and early morning.

Legolas grimaced slightly as he tried to remember.

"Eh… no. No, last night I remember only carrying a dress from the river." Once more, cheekiness slipped into his tone. "And you also."

A reprimanding look threatened to return to Idril's face, but the sheer cuteness of Legolas' tone made her smile; which in turn, aggravated her greatly. She quickly set upon her face an emotionless expression, but Legolas had noticed the fleeting smile only moments before, and was now determined to bring it back permanently.

He slid off the bed and walked to Idril, who was standing before the mirror with her head bowed, thinking. She raised her head to look at Legolas through the reflection as he approached her, eventually wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling himself closer to her. He lay his head upon Idril's shoulder, and the two stared at each other through the mirror for long moments, both enjoying the other's presence, although Idril did so rather reluctantly.

Finally, Idril spoke.

"Legolas…"

He kissed her shoulder lightly before reconnecting their fixed gazes. Idril sighed, half in despair and half in bliss at the contact of his lips upon her skin.

"Legolas, we cannot do this."

Legolas turned his nose to Idril's hair and buried it within the dark masses, drinking in her scent. His eyes still did not move from hers.

"Yes we can," came his slightly muffled reply. Idril shook her head, slid out from Legolas' embrace, and walked towards the shut bedroom door. Once halfway there, she brought her steps to a stop and awkwardly shifted back to face a confused Legolas.

"Is there a…" she paused to think of the term she wanted, although found she could not find one. "A way out of the palace that does not involve anyone witnessing my leave?"

She had avoided looking at Legolas as she spoke, but as a silence grew, she raised her head to see him. He was merely staring at her, unmoved from when she had started to speak. Idril had expected discomfort at her words, but the long moments that persisted were crueller than she had hoped. She watched as Legolas' eyes narrowed, just slightly, but enough to inform her of his displeasure. Very soon after, she noticed his strong jaw as he protruded it determinedly: just as he had always done.

He turned and lifted a long robe from his wardrobe and shrugged it on, then pulled open the door, exposing a comely corridor.

"Leave then," he said, gesturing out the door with a brief nod of his head. "Turn right, and when you reach the end of the full flight of stairs there will be a door that opens to a road that leads to your home."

Idril said nothing, and did not move.

"If you wish to leave me, then go." Legolas' tone was sharp, and matched the prevalent indignation guarding his face.

Idril's eyes flicked from Legolas to the door, but she made no sign of moving. Legolas fiercely pushed the door shut as he walked back to Idril to stand but a mere three inches from her, his height now overwhelming against her own.

"I knew it, you feel something for me. Do not pretend that there is no room in your heart for me. I am growing weary of your insistence of such things."

Idril would not look at him, and he continued.

"I love you. You cannot treat that lightly, Idril; furthermore, I know that last night meant more to you than just a careless accident."

Idril would still not meet his eyes, so he raised her chin with his finger. Once he had connected both of their gazes, he knew that she was powerless to detach.

"Tell me you do not love me. Look at me, and tell me that you do not. If you can, I promise that I will leave you alone and you will never have to deal with my love again."

There was silence for a while, and Legolas was granted a fleeting moment of presumed victory. This was bruised, however, when Idril retorted, a strong sharpness in her tone that he remembered only from a few times in his life.

"The matters of my heart reside only with me."

Legolas hesitated before answering; her response had startled him, yet her words were irritating and he felt anger start to boil inside him.

"Do you not understand?" he questioned, his voice rising, trying to keep his dignity firmly intact. "I have told you before of how I long to love. Now I love, and it belongs to you, and you treat it as though it were a trivial matter."

He watched as Idril took obvious offence to his opinion. It pleased him so he continued, wanting to both win the argument and aggravate Idril further.

"What were you thinking last night - that you could have your fun with me and then leave? Perhaps leave to bed other lovers, make them fall for you, then abandon them also."

He smiled wickedly as he witnessed Idril's reaction. Her face had contorted into an expression of pure shock and disbelief, and she stepped away from him, lessening his height's domination.

"That is what you truly think of me. That is—you—" she spat at him, struggling to find words. Her breath was fast; she closed her eyes, and tried to calm herself. When she met his eyes, she had indeed calmed herself but her fury at his accusations could not be controlled as a fire flared behind her eyes.

The two stared at each other, neither wanting to say anything: Legolas, as he was content knowing that he had won, nor Idril, as she had nothing to say to him. Yet eventually, she spoke.

"Out the door, to the right?"

Legolas frowned, confused, and nodded. He watched as Idril walked to the door, opened it, and turned down the corridor. Part of him suggested he go after her - what he would say to her if he did, he did not know. He pushed the door shut and stared at it for a moment. He was still seething, yet a hint of regret pricked at his mind.

He had won, but she was gone.

* * *

It was noon when Idril walked through the open door of the treehouse, damp and wearing strange clothes, and four pairs of eyes fell upon her instantly. She did not meet any of them. Instead, she grabbed a book, quickly scanned its contents and, upon finding the novel at least mildly interesting, made a direct route to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Should I go talk to her?" asked Garhirel. Sweet as though the gesture was, Garhirel's voice contained no tenderness.

"No!" replied Mablung. Upon seeing his wife's surprised expression, he added: "no, perhaps I should."

"Mablung, your health! Do not be—" But Mablung had already struggled to his feet and begun in the direction of Idril's bedroom.

* * *

There was a light tap on her door. Idril put the unopened book beside her on the bed.

"Come in."

The door slowly swung open, and Mablung smiled and hobbled in. Upon seeing her father's cane – a harsh reminder of exactly what was at stake for Yávië Elves in love – Idril averted her gaze. Mablung sat on the side of her bed and faced her.

"I do not know for sure. Yet, I am going to trust my assumptions as to where you were last night."

"I was down by the river," she replied quietly. For this conversation to go further would be uncomfortable for Idril - she did not want to tell her father the truth and at the same time did not wish to lie to him.

Mablung patiently waited to see if she would continue of her own accord. She did not, and he nodded in acceptance.

"If you ever wish to tell me, you know that I am willing to listen and guide. But for now, let me say this." He leaned his body towards Idril. "I do not advise that you see him again. I do not forbid it: if you continue to meet with him, you know what will come of it and I only hope that that will be enough to keep you apart."

He rested his hand upon her cheek for a moment and smiled, before lifting himself up and leaving Idril.

She sat quietly for a while then picked up her book and began to read.

* * *

Legolas sat silently across from Thranduil, his fork held loosely in his hand, occasionally bringing small pieces of food to his mouth.

All day he had been livid, not believing that Idril could be capable of saying such things or, most unbelieving of all, hurting him when he had done no wrong, only loved her.

He thought back to the morning, though with some caution – he did not want to make a scene at the dinner table, especially not when the cause for any angry disruption would be of Idril's doing.

While studying the earlier event, his voice mimicked words spoken:

"…_Leave to bed other lovers…"_

Possibly a little unjust. Twice she had hurt him deeply now though, so she surely deserved it.

Then why did regret persist to seep into his conscience? He was in the right. She had been cruel, and unjustified cruelness deserves to be challenged. His accusations were being used as a defence, that was all.

He shrugged it off. He should not allow thoughts of her to affect him so. Anyway: he had won.

* * *

**A/N: I haven't had an Author's Note for a while, and thought that this chapter would be a nice place to put one.**

**Thank you, reviewers! And to readers: knowing your opinion is very important to me - hence, feedback is always appreciated.**

**The end of this tale is near!**

_-Laura._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Mablung was feeling rather happy as he lowered himself into his chair. His coughs had not returned since his fainting, and Idril had confined herself to the treehouse and close by it for nigh on thirteen days now, ever since she had last spent a night somewhere down by the river. She was a smart girl, and he was glad in the fact that she had finally seen what was best. He would have to commend her on this, but he would do it later, for at that time she was out with the Old Willow.

He did not mean to be controlling in any way, for indeed she was far beyond the age of needing a father to manage her life. She just needed to be reminded, and he had succeeded in that.

He smiled, pleased with both himself and his daughter, and opened his book.

Idril returned home after an enlivening morning with the willow tree. She had not visited him for many days, afraid of what he may say to her, afraid that he would say the same things to her as her father had. As she thought of her father, she looked up and was surprised to see him staring back at her. She wondered at the smile on his face, which was directed only at her. She returned it, though it was not heartfelt. To be honest, she was more worried at how he was smiling: he looked proud. What was there to be proud about?

She shrugged it off and made for her bedroom. On her walk to the Old Willow and back, her light shoes had become muddy and she had had to leave them outside on the balcony to dry. She entered her room and opened her wardrobe door, searching for another pair. Long dresses and nightgowns hung from a rung at the top of the dark wardrobe, with shoes placed beneath neatly at the bottom. She scanned over her shoe assortment, though there were hardly enough pairs to really present much of a variety.

She pushed away an exceptionally long, thick dress at the edge of the wardrobe to find a suitable pair of house shoes. She found some, and noticed that tucked away in the corner with them was a limp pile of brown. Curious, she picked it up and dread ran through her body: it was Legolas' tunic.

If it stayed here, she would constantly be reminded of him and her mistake (as she had now decided to call it); if she returned it, she would have to see him again. She pondered this: was the latter really a bad thing? She immediately chastised herself for thinking this, yet the idea was annoyingly tapping at her mind, refusing to cease. She flung the tunic back into her wardrobe as though it had suddenly grown red hot.

Confusion overwhelmed her as she stared at it, not knowing what to do. She craved so desperately for memories of her mistake to flee from her mind never to return, yet also to be comforted in Legolas' arms. She knew, however, that neither were possible. The former, because it was simply unworkable. The latter, because should she be comforted in his arms, Legolas would only be trying to protect her from her greatest and deadliest fear which, ironically, was becoming dependant on him.

'_If he had not so persisted in seeing me, none of this would ever have happened!'_ Her confusion doubled. She cared for Legolas deeply and wished to be near him, but now, she wanted to hit him.

How could he? It was because of him that her father was sick; it was because of him that she was so confused; it was because of him that lives were put at risk. How could he?

She looked down at her feet and saw that she had put on a pair of old shoes, and her arms were carrying Legolas' tunic down the corridor and towards the back door, where no one could see her leave.

'_I will return this - hopefully without meeting him, I could just leave it with the guards – and then go back home.'_

She did not think as she descended the staircase at the back of the treehouse. Her confusion and anger had left unnoticed. All she was doing was returning the tunic and then turning straight back home – nothing more.

The giant cave loomed before her, yet the two guards posted at the doorway comforted Idril somewhat. They were unmoved as she cautiously trod towards them; only one shifted their gaze to observe her. She smiled, though this was not returned.

"Uh…" she started; knowing that she must look a right fool. Her nerves took control and she laughed loosely, a trembling sound that filled the courtyard. She fidgeted with the tunic bundled in her arm, picking at the hem and hating herself for this bumbling effort.

"Idril?"

She froze. She knew all too well who owned that voice and she dared not turn to see him. This was exactly what she did not want to happen – or was it? – and she grimaced as, in the corner of her eye, she saw him hesitantly move towards her.

Mustering up any emotional strength she had left, she turned on the spot to see Legolas now standing six yards from her. Not far behind him were stables, and Idril could see Legolas' horse standing patiently, awaiting it's master's return.

She shifted her gaze from the stables to look again at Legolas, and found that he had noticed the tunic she held in her arms.

"Oh, um…" She took a step forward, but dared not go any further. She could read Legolas' face and found that her visit was not welcome.

'_He could not make this any worse for me,'_ she thought, lowering her head, not wanting to witness the look on Legolas' face. She sighed.

'_Just give it back and then go. It is obvious he does not want you in his life anymore,'_ she told herself, though she flinched involuntarily at the second sentence. Though, it gave her a rush of bravery – enough to meet his eyes once more.

"I have your tunic. I promised that I would return it."

There was a silence between them for a while as neither of them wanted to move or speak. Eventually, Legolas spoke and it came as a source of ease for Idril.

"Thank you."

He came forward, though initially quite hesitantly, and took his clothing from Idril's outstretched arm. As a brief meeting of their hands occurred, Idril shuddered. She had not seen, heard or touched Legolas for two weeks and this was the result. Once more, hatred for herself grew – she would have to leave.

"I am going…" she faltered, not daring to look at Legolas. Her burst of courage had gone, leaving Idril feeling uncomfortable. Legolas nodded. Slowly, she turned and walked back towards the forest. Leaving him was the right thing to do, but her mind was throbbing with regret and grief. Never had she felt worse in all her thousands of years of life as when she turned from him.

Legolas watched her move reluctantly towards the forest for a few seconds, then turned back to the stables, his rumpled tunic tucked into the crook of his arm. Seeing her was a surprise, as for nearly a week he had just managed to keep memories of her and her heartless actions at bay. He was calmer now about it, but on seeing her, unsummoned worries returned.

He was now thinking deeply about what he was to do – he had decided not to try to forget her, forget his feelings towards her and carry on with life, although that did seem the easiest option. Yet to run back to her and try to talk was, at that time, not an option. He knew how she felt about him, now that he had seen first-hand how willingly she had deserted him.

The much-hated feeling of confusion began to swarm through his mind, but receded when he felt a presence nearby.

He turned but did not have enough time to make even a quarter of a rotation. Idril stood before him, both hands clutching his forearms firmly, tears staining her cheeks.

The bewildered expression set upon his face seemed enough to spur on her voice.

"I can't- I just-" she faltered, shaking her head miserably yet not daring to tear her tear-filled eyes from their desperate search into Legolas'.

He knew not what to say, so took her in his arms and held on firmly. Why? He did not know clearly, but put it down to habit – to want to comfort her, protect her.

Her body slumped against his as she trembled. He looked down at the top of her brown head and wondered what it was that had provoked this. Nevertheless, he held onto her, not wanting to let go until he could hear her sobs subside. She stirred within him; he loosened his clutch. He glanced quickly over at the two guards by the cave opening, then with one arm still immovably holding on to as much of Idril's body as possible, he lead them both over to the stables.

Once there, he ducked the two of them into a corner that was unseen by outside eyes. As he made to check on her, she wriggled out of his grasp and moved further into the stables. He frowned at this; but was not given much time to dwell on his emotions as he watched Idril pace the floor. She had her hands over her eyes and was muttering to herself, though so quietly that Legolas could only pick up certain terms.

"You foolish woman… fool, fool, fool! … what are you… oh, Ilúvatar, please…"

Legolas watched on with curiosity. Suddenly Idril ceased her pacing and looked at him. She cocked her head as she studied his face.

"You have no understanding of anything at all, do you know… and I…"

She trailed off, and he could see the look in her eyes telling him to say something comforting yet he could not: he could not read her mind thus he could not know what to say, and it saddened him.

Idril smiled at him - though not one of happiness nor of relief - and dropped her head and he could see that she was near to laughing. She then sighed, raised her head, and looked upon him in both pity and tenderness.

These phases all happened in such successive motion that Legolas did not have the time to comprehend his own reactions to each of them, and instead he stood before her mutely, awaiting her next action.

It was not long to wait: Idril's face adopted a kind demeanour, though there was something amiss about it, and she walked towards him.

"I take my leave now," she said gently, and with the imperfect smile immovable from her lips as they spoke her words.

Before Legolas could say anything, Idril had placed both of her hands lightly upon his cheeks and gazed upon him (lovingly? Though he dared not believe it, just in case) before greeting his lips with hers. Her kiss was firm and deep, yet not overly long, and when she broke, he found he wanted so much more. He gazed down at her bloodshot eyes, pained that they had once been filled with tears. His hand placed itself securely on her hip, keeping Idril locked closely to him.

"Come inside," he said, gesturing back to the castle with a nod of his head, and a small smile daring to cross his lips for the first time.

She smiled - that pained smile once again - and shook her head lightly. To this response Legolas pressed his hand on to her body harder, pushing her more towards him.

"Please come inside," he said quietly, yet throwing as much intensity as he could into his words. "I want to talk to you."

He watched as she thought about this for a moment, then proceeded to reach back and take hold of his hand in hers and pull it between their bodies. Believing that she had consented, Legolas raised her hand, entwined with his, and kissed it.

"Everything is so confusing; I am forgetting who I am and where I am and what I am supposed to be doing," she said quietly, and Legolas smiled.

"I agree wholeheartedly for I am feeling it also, yet I see it as a good thing, not one to mourn. We will share this experience, work through it, and learn from it."

"I do not know what to think," she replied, her smile only now beginning to ebb. "I need time and space to do so."

With that, she pulled away from him, gave him a feeble interpretation of what used to be a smile, then passed him in the direction of the forest.

He watched her go, wanting insanely to run after her and force her into the castle where they could talk about what happened, and he could make love to her once more. His feet moved him a few steps towards her, but something was holding him back.

What if he did run after her? She may be angered as he had blatantly disregarded her wishes, and then there went his opportunity to regain their bond. He looked down at the tunic in his arm as if noticing it for the first time, then at the guards posted at either side of the doorway to the cave, his home.

He stood unmoving, as he watched her silhouette fade into the trees.

She was weakening, he could see: she was finally weakening, her guard was falling, and soon she would not be able to resist being with him. He was close. He just had to give her time, and if time was all it took to gain a confession of her love, then he would wait for an eternity.

She could be seen no more, and he re-entered the stables to tend to his horse.

* * *

It had been six days since Idril had surprised both Legolas and herself and visited him, using the weak excuse of the returning of his tunic.

She had not much to do these days but wait for death to take both her and her father, so had whiled away her time thinking of the past month and all of it's happenings. She both loved and hated examining her memories. To be fascinated at how, just one month ago, life had been so content, so easy, and was now so terrible, was the part that she loved. What she disliked was the confusion, though this was now a permanent part of her psyche and now not so much disliked as regretfully accepted.

Yet what she hated, beyond anything in the world, was the guilt. The guilt of knowing that she was not only killing herself, but holding the title of murderer of her own father, ender of the line of Yávië Elves, and breaker of Legolas' heart. All because of one stupid, foolish, and absolutely regrettable understanding.

She was in love with Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. And because of it, lives were to end.

She had not been able to laugh for near to three weeks now, but had come close to emitting a hollow version of one whenever her thoughts strayed to the last time Legolas and she had met. Her awkwardness when trying to reason with the guards (which had never been able to commence due to her faltering attempt); her stupid and random outbursts of emotion; the look on Legolas' face as he witnessed her carrying-on: all were amusing. Of course, it had been quite the opposite at the time, but she was glad that at least now, because death was so close, everything else was slightly comical in comparison.

She looked around the room: sunlight creeped in through the open door and the windows, though only by a frail amount. Idril knew that this meant daybreak, but her mind was not clear enough to appreciate it, and it had not done so for a while now. There was a morning crispness in the room which Idril knew that she loved, but she could not feel it. Her father had been around earlier: she had emerged from her bedroom just as he was setting towards the back door, for his regular morning stroll. She would have joined him, but knew that she would only depreciate his love of morning by being a dull companion.

Garhirel was, she supposed, outside as well. As much as Idril did dislike her, she admired her mother's knowledge of the water and her love for it. Ibby had yet to awake, and Eldanén was sharing the room with Idril, though he had not greeted her in any form when she had entered.

She now turned her head and examined her younger brother, her Tasarhin, who seemed to be studying the book _Yávië_. He had been quite odd of late: not only because of her, for if that was the case she would not have to wonder - she was well aware of his newly created bitterness towards her, and she knew why. She had noticed also that he was drawing away from everyone else, and this was what had set her concerns.

"Are you all right?" she asked, daring not to use his nickname. She needed to be gentle.

He barely noticed her words. She removed herself from her standing position by the window and crossed to where he was sitting in the chair. She crouched down before him.

"Please speak to me. We have not spoken properly for weeks."

This still brought about no reaction.

"I know that your ill mood is my fault, and I am very sorry for that."

This worked: he raised his head and looked at her, for what seemed like the first time since the night of the Festival. He stared into her eyes with his own gentle blue ones, and Idril could not pinpoint exactly what it was that he was thinking. This was strange, for he was but ten years old, and reading such a small child's face is not difficult. Yet now, it was nigh impossible.

At last he spoke.

"Do not be sorry. Nothing is your fault," he said, and for some reason these words instilled in Idril such a pride as she had never known. His face, she now noticed, was mature for a ten-year-old, and within his eyes was a wisdom - not wisdom such as her father's, but seeing it within his eyes nearly knocked her off of her feet.

She smiled gently at him, and was sad that the possibility of mature conversations with her younger brother only appeared once she knew that her life was at a close. She pulled in her lips and thought, then looked back up at Eldanén.

"May I please have your permission to call you Tasarhin once more?"

He smiled, a wide, excited smile that came very close to betraying his adult-like eyes.

"Yes," he said, obviously delighted. Idril swelled with happiness and before she knew it, her arms were wrapped around Eldanén, pushing him into the back of the chair.

"If you ever need to talk about anything, you know that you are free to speak with me," she said as she pulled herself apart from him. His smile faltered, but only slightly. He nodded, and Idril was glad - to have such a friendship with one that she so dearly loved was wonderful.

Still smiling, she let go of Eldanén and walked out onto the balcony to enjoy as much of the sunrise as she could sense.

* * *

The cave entrance was before him again, dimly lit in the morning light. Legolas had spent the better half of the night out in the forest and upon witnessing the sunrise, returned to his home.

Six days he had resisted pushing Idril to say what he wanted her to, and he was proud of himself for it. Granted, three times now he had walked to her treehouse, hoping to find her just outside it or something of the sort, but to no avail. He had come back from doing just that, and was both disappointed and relieved to not find her there, although he had come close to an encounter with Mablung. He was disappointed, as he sorely wished to see her, and relieved because he sincerely did not want to make her feel rushed, and to turn up at her home would certainly not help that.

He was comforted by the fact that although they had argued and hurt each other, Idril still found an excuse to see him again - he was not fooled by her masquerade of returning his tunic. She needed to think - that was what she had said, and that was what he would let her do. He himself had thought and the answer was plain: he loved her, and that was all that mattered.

He nodded at the two guards and walked through the doorway.

* * *

**A/N: This is so close to the end... wow.**

**Big thank yous are as usual going out to those who have ever reviewed. I appreciate everyone's support over the months. **

**If you have any thoughts or suggestions as to the story or ending - anything, really - feel free to drop me some feedback, as it is the only way I know of how the story is doing.**

_-Laura._


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

-

It was well past sunset in Mirkwood and the rain that had fallen during the cold winter's day hung limply from every blade of grass, twinkling in the face of the moonlight. The clearing had a distinct blue theme as the glow of the moon coloured every grass shoot and every grey, leafless tree that straddled the circular field.

Idril closed her eyes and breathed in the chilly crispness that characterised the air. She stood this way for some time, relishing the smells and feel of the forest, which had now been completely taken by winter. Soon the snow would fall, but she would not live to see it.

Her eyes slowly opened. She was standing on the edge of the clearing, gazing around in wonder, her arms hanging limply by her sides.

_'This field determined my fate.'_

At this thought, almost instantly the memories of a night one month ago were presented for her. She again closed her eyes, to allow her mind to draw it's picture - a group of Elves to one end of the clearing, playing beautiful wooden and stringed instruments; the tables which were filled with drink and laughter; a mass of Elves dancing, weaving in and out of one another across the green floor and through the golden lights. Sounds filled her ears: of music, of speech, of goblets and plates.

Legolas would appear at her side any time now and ask her to dance…

As she quickly opened her eyes, the Festival disappeared before them, being replaced by an empty and dark forest. She should not live in a dream when the reality was what mattered most.

Sighing, she lowered herself to the ground, not caring about her dress upon the dew. Shortly she bent over, hard coughs forcing her forwards. The hollow sound echoed around the clearing, being the only noise to be heard at all. They finally ceased and she spent a while calming her breath.

This achieved, she sighed and closed her eyes, then lay down upon the grass, the back of her dress now soaking in the dew.

She reflected on the past month, as she had so often done during the previous two weeks.

_'Why am I not yet dead? Why must this horror be stretched?'_ she asked herself. The forest had been governed by winter for a week now and still she was alive.

A few more coughs pushed their way through her lips.

_'I am close,'_ she thought, almost relieved by those last few coughs for they served as a suggestion that her life was submitting.

She relaxed and nearly fell into deep rest, but for a sudden blockage of the moonlight which forbade it from running over her face. She opened her eyes. Sitting by her was Legolas, who was facing her with his legs crossed. He smiled down at her and she lifted her body to sit beside him, so surprised that words escaped her.

Legolas looked sheepish but did not break eye contact.

"Your father told me."

Idril was taken aback at these words.

"He _told_ you?" she gasped, horror-stricken. Legolas seemed slightly confused by her reaction, but managed to nod.

"Yes," he said simply, before deciding to elaborate. "I apologise. I… I wanted to see you and talk to you. I thought that you would be at your home. When I arrived you were not present, so your father told me where you might be. Rather reluctantly I must add and I am not sure why. Have I done or said anything to offend him or show disrespect?"

A great wash of relief came over Idril, although she did not know why she was so desperate for him not to know of her secret. She exhaled deeply, then remembered that he had asked her a question.

"No, you have done nothing of the sort. I suppose he was curious as to what his Prince was doing in his home in the middle of the night."

She raised his eyebrow at him in mock discernment and also to create a more relaxed air. He smiled, and she noticed as his eyes flicked down to her lips for an instant before rising back up.

Idril soon became aware of how warm it had suddenly become, then realised just how close Legolas' face was to hers. She ducked her head and pulled back; she saw Legolas make to move forward after her, but he quickly stopped himself.

"Why did you come?" she asked, making sure to keep her gaze well away from Legolas. He cocked his head.

"I told you, I wanted to talk to you."

Idril dared to meet his eyes for a moment, then pulled them away.

"What of?" she asked, though instantly regretted doing so. She knew the answer and did not want to hear it from Legolas, but he started talking before she could.

"What of? Us. This. What is to happen."

There was silence as Legolas awaited Idril's reply.

"What do you wish to happen?" she asked quietly, focusing entirely on the wet grass. Through the corner of her eye she could see Legolas smile and stand up. She raised her head in time to see him extend his right hand; she took it (although not quite knowing why) and he pulled her up from the ground to stand close to him.

He smiled warmly and she found that she could not take her eyes from his.

"I wish for whatever destiny has in store for two soulmates."

Idril was about to ask him how he knew they were soulmates, but Legolas had turned and was leading her right into the middle of the clearing, his hand securely locked onto hers.

He stopped and turned back to her. His right hand's fingers entwined themselves within Idril's own, and his other hand lay gently upon Idril's hip. Idril had no choice but to comply, so placed her hand upon Legolas' broad shoulder, though feeling rather confused. Legolas had a strange smile upon his lips.

"Do you remember?" he asked in a low voice. Slowly, he began to move both of them from side to side and Idril lowered her head embarrassedly and smiled.

_'I cannot believe he is doing this…'_ she thought, though her giddy smile remained fixed as she relaxed into the dance.

"Let me see…" Legolas began. "It was the third stage of Autumn. As I remember, my father had resolved to stage a Festival for all Elves in the region. To be honest I was getting rather bored with it all, but then I noticed, standing by the edge of the clearing looking equally bored as I…"

Here, he dipped her, which made her laugh.

"… an elleth in a lovely dress with a lovely face." He brought her back up and continued dancing with her.

"Little did I know that the air of familiarity about you was most probably due to the hundreds of years I had known you previously." Idril chuckled. "In my defence, however, it was dark and you look different from all those years ago - hence I am not entirely to blame."

He spun her around under his arm and as she moved through, she danced. He brought her back in front of him, keeping her close.

"And here we are, one month later. Together and dancing in the very same clearing that reunited us."

He smiled down at her grinning face. She tried to calm this expression for her next statement.

"But my Lord, there is no music this time. We cannot dance without music."

"An easy problem, easily mended," he replied, and began to sing. His soft Elven words filled the forest around them with a sense of calm and lulled Idril, as she rested her head upon his shoulder.

To her it was perfect; Legolas swung them together smoothly, complementing his gentle voice.

_'He loves me and I love him and we are together. Nothing could…'_

She never finished that sentence as if almost on cue, memories of her father's suffering flew swiftly into her mind, clogging it up to allow no other thoughts. Here she was, one of her last days and she was spending it in a heaven with her love, while her father was sitting at home, suffering… because of her.

She drew away sharply from Legolas, regretting the action immediately but knowing that it was right. His singing stopped as did his dance, and he looked at Idril curiously for a moment until he realised what was happening. An impatient expression thus was set upon his face.

"Idril," he said sternly, as if warning her. She looked at him - he had on that stubborn expression of his again. How many times Idril had seen it in her lifetime she could not count. She thought about telling him that she loved him in order to create any form of sympathy or ease towards her, but realised that it would do no good as it would just give him a legible reason as to why she should stay with him.

"I know that you are angry with me for this," she started slowly, and he huffed obviously. "But I truly need to be at home. My father needs me."

"No!" Legolas replied impatiently. "No, you need to be here, telling me why it is that every time I get close to you, you run away."

Idril sighed and made a rough plan in her mind of how she would respond to his aggravation.

"Legolas, I care for you, I honestly do." _'Good, ambiguous.'_ "And I assure you, I enjoy spending time with you… a lot, in fact."

His aggressive stance did not waver.

"Yet as much as I need to be around you, my father needs me with him more. Especially now," she said, ending quietly. "You do not understand and--"

"Precisely! I do not understand!" replied Legolas, his voice slowly rising, but Idril did not flinch. "Why is it that I seem to be the only one who has not heard of what is going on and more importantly, what I am supposed to do about it?" He began to pace in front of her, his arms forming wild gestures. "I have been kept in the dark for too long, which I happen to find terribly unjust as I am the one who needs to know most importantly! If I am to be involved in your life, you cannot simply shut me out whenever you feel like it, and close whichever windows suit you!"

He stopped mid-pace, then turned back to Idril and lowered his body slightly to be at complete eye-level with her.

"Tell me," he said forcefully, "what everybody else seems to _understand_."

There were no sounds between them for long moments, and neither moved.

-

Legolas stared into her face and she stared back. He would get the answer from her - he had to. How could he love her and not be aware of whatever was forbidding her from reciprocating this feeling? He could read her eyes and could tell that she was debating in her mind whether or not to give him what he wished. He did not regret his eruption of anger - if it was what was needed to fill the unknown gaps in Idril's world, then it was for the best. He did not care what it was, just so long as he _knew_.

Idril suddenly dipped her head and sighed. All of his attention was centred on her now and he could tell that she did not appreciate this but at that moment, he did not care.

With her head still bent, she shook it.

"I am sorry."

This answer did not nearly satisfy Legolas, so he was glad when she continued.

"It is so hard to explain. All of this has become so complicated, yet…" her head rose to meet Legolas' eyes, and within hers he could see a desperate apology, which did not please him in the slightest. "Yet, I somehow know that I cannot communicate to you what is occurring or what will happen. Not now, anyhow." She laughed. "I know that must sound so strange."

Soon her smile quickly faded and she diverted her gaze to the ground, in what Legolas could mark as the end of her fleeting moment of artificial joviality. He waited for her to continue. She could not expect to say just this and receive immediate forgiveness. She did continue, though unsurely and after many moments of stillness.

"I wish that I could tell you, as it is wrong of me to keep such things from you. Yet… you will discover soon what it is that you need to know."

Legolas watched her intensely. Surely, she would give more explanation than this petty excuse!

She did not; instead, her head hung, as she dared not look into his eyes. Legolas felt as though each surrounding tree was watching him and all sounds had quieted to listen intently to the two Elves.

He drew away from Idril, frowning, the anger bubbling inside him requiring enormous mental strength to keep it confined within him. She still would not look at him; he turned and walked away.

-

Legolas had returned to his home - his long, fast strides had brought him there swiftly. The journey had done nothing to ease his anger and now it heaved throughout his full body, spurring his legs to take it out on the ground beneath him as they pounded the marble floor mercilessly.

A maid had the nerve to inquire as to his wellbeing as he barrelled past her, and it greatly increased his irritation. A porcelain vase stood upon a slim end table. As he passed it, he swung his arm and smashed it into the table, causing it to fall, sending the vase smashing to the floor. He heard the maid behind him make a startled yelp, but he did not care.

He soon entered his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. This did not fulfil his anger, so he promptly turned and drove his fist through the light door, screaming.

He stared at the hole in the wood and the blood trickling from his knuckles. He stood, stunned at his own power - almost frightened. He could feel that tears would soon follow as a form of anguish; he paced the room willing them to stay away. Yet when the first droplet stung his eye, he yelled and kicked his bed as hard as he could, almost enjoying the pain it caused him.

His legs gave way, he fell to the ground on his hands and knees and his body trembled with tears and frustration.

* * *

**A/N: Chapter 17 will be up as soon as possible. Thanks to readers, reviewers and beta!**

_-Laura._


	17. Chapter Seventeen and Summary

**I apologise for the delay in posting these chapters, but the ending is written and will be posted shortly. There are three chapters after this one, which will hopefully all be posted within ten days.**

**Preceding this chapter is a brief summary, so that you are up-to-date with the events in this story and so to understand the following chapters better. **

**Thank you for reading! **

_-Laura._

_

* * *

_**Summary:**

Legolas and Idril met at a Festival that Thranduil had held, after being apart for hundreds of years due mostly to both of their father's wishes. After that, Legolas found that he wanted to see more of Idril, as they hadn't talked in many years, and met her a few times to talk and walk. In that time, Idril met Ibby, a young Rohan girl, whose parents had died on their way to Mirkwood, where they were going for a reason Ibby was unsure of.

Every time Legolas and Idril were out, it seemed that Idril did not want to further their relationship, which often aggravated Legolas. Ibby soon found from Idril that she was a part of the Yávië: a race of Elves who were bound to a willow tree. The life of the tree and of its Elves were interlinked - love weakened both the Elf and the tree. Should all Elves alive and bound to the tree be in love, then the tree had no strength to carry on (and neither did the Elves), and the tree and Elves would die. Hence, Idril did not want to fall in love and thus could not become too close to Legolas.

Legolas soon found that he loved Idril, but when he told her, she rejected it and walked away. Meanwhile, Eldanén, Idril's younger brother, seemed troubled as he tried to talk to the trees like his sister and father did.

Legolas and Idril coincidentally met in the river. Legolas thought he saw some dirt or debris in an odd shape on her stomach, but quickly dismissed it, and they bonded. Mablung was all the while becoming weaker. Idril returned home the next day after a brief argument with Legolas, wearing his tunic, which she then returned a while later, where she and Legolas half-made-up.

A little while later, Idril went to the clearing where the Festival first took place and reflected on the past month. Legolas had been going for a walk that night and accidentally met her there, where he proceeded to serenade and dance with her. Idril soon realised that it was wrong to do so, and pulled out, making Legolas irritated because she wasn't telling him the full truth. Idril returned home, as did Legolas where he stormed into his room, eventually screaming and taking out his anger on his door.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

-

Tears blotted Idril's page. She dipped her quill into her inkwell and continued writing.

-

Legolas opened his eyes. He had been in a deep rest for a good part of the night. Outside his window, he could see that dawn was not to break for a while yet.

He felt serene as he lay on his bed, listening to the light rain pattering onto the balcony outside his window. He had vented out all of his anger the last night and felt none now, yet indeed he still did not feel favourably towards Idril. He did not know what to do about her, hence, he did not think about her. He stared up into the ceiling, enjoying what was left of the night, which was soon to be fading.

His eyes closed lightly.

"Legolas?"

They reluctantly reopened.

Thranduil stood in the doorway. He pointedly looked at the hole in the middle of the open door then back at Legolas.

"Care to explain?"

"I am sorry for that."

Thranduil did not reprimand Legolas, nor did he make any change in posture or expression. After a short while spent examining his son, he smiled, which surprised Legolas slightly, and allowed himself into the room. He sat upon a chair that was by Legolas' bed and folded his hands in his lap.

"So you are in love with Idril," he stated bluntly. Legolas groaned, though there was a slight lifting of the corners of his mouth, and placed an arm over his eyes.

"As much as I hate it, yes."

"Hm," was Thranduil's only reply to this. Following the extended silence that accompanied it, Legolas removed his arm and stared at his father.

"Is there something you wish to say?" he asked, genuinely wanting to speak to his father. He was in an extremely calm state and had missed conversations with Thranduil, even if most of the time they had such differing opinions that discussions seemed more like arguments.

"Yes. Although I am not sure you will take it with much good grace," he said slowly.

"At this moment, I am fully willing to accept anything you wish to throw at me," Legolas replied light-heartedly and smiling up at the ceiling.

"It is about Idril," Thranduil said, a warning in his tone.

"I know," he replied simply.

"And _Yávië_."

Legolas frowned and turned his head to face his father.

"_Yávië_? The story?"

Thranduil smiled at this.

"Yes, the 'story', in a sense. Come." He nodded towards the corridor that could be seen through Legolas' door. He rose and Legolas followed. They moved through the hallways and passages in silence, not stopping until they reached the old Library. Two servants pushed open the heavy doors and Legolas followed Thranduil in, utterly bewildered by Thranduil's words but confident that he would soon know some answers.

Thranduil made straight for a shelf that was tucked away in the furthest corner and pulled out a book with a golden binder – _Yávië_. He walked back to Legolas and offered it to him; he took it and shrugged.

"What am I to do with this?"

"What you are to do with any book - read it," replied Thranduil frankly. Legolas slowly opened the book to the first page and read through until the fifth, Thranduil watching him patiently.

"I still do not understand what I am supposed to be doing," he said after a while, still reading through the book. Thranduil reached forward and took it from his grasp, shutting it lightly.

"That is enough. I only wanted to you to re-familiarise yourself with the plot. You have now read the introduction?"

"Yes."

"Good," Thranduil said brightly. "Now I will recount to you an event from the very beginnings of Arda, and then you can make the connection between it and this 'story', as you put it."

He moved to his desk and sat in his majestic chair, while Legolas seated himself in a soft chair across from him. Thranduil watched Legolas for a while, as if judging whether or not to continue, until he spoke with a quiet, serious tone.

"Idril and Mablung's race has carried through the Ages a secret which is known to very few. I tell you now because I feel I must; I am confident that Mablung will understand."

He stopped for a moment, listening for any signs of close life that could possibly overhear his words, then continued.

"You have often wondered why it is that your friendship with Idril slowly died out thousands of years ago. Why all of a sudden, I found better things for you to do than be with her and why her rate of availability decreased over the years until she could no longer see or speak to you."

Thranduil paused and raised his eyebrows in question; Legolas nodded, and he resumed.

"The reason is this: both Mablung and I noticed your growing fondness for each other - naturally, we predicted that this could flourish at any time into love. Legolas, you must understand: to love one of her kind would mean death for both lovers."

He paused, allowing his words to impact upon Legolas, then inhaled deeply and began.

"I will start at the beginning. Long before time, the Ainur sang before Ilúvatar. Of these Ainur was Yavanna, who loves all things that grow and who, you may not know, in one song, made mention of the forbidden love of a mourning tree. When the Music ceased at Ilúvatar's bidding, he brought all of the Valar's words of song to exist physically in the world, and Yavanna and her spouse Aulë delighted in the formation of trees, grasses, flowers and mountains.

"When the Elves came to the world, they were at first in the Deeps of Time, then awoke by the lake Cuiviénen. However, there was one who was spawned from a willow tree, as Yavanna willed it in song. This Elf - Tathardil, he was named - grew with the spirit of the willow tree within him and thus was bound to it. This tree soon came to be known as the Old Willow.

"Yavanna's vision of a forbidden love of a mourning tree soon turned to reality - Tathardil, bound to the willow tree, which is recognised by its mourning branches, soon fell for an elleth. They married and she bore him a child, but all the time Tathardil's health was gradually weakening - an event which no doubt troubled his spouse as at that time, no other Elf's wellbeing had been recorded as decreasing in any way.

"Tathardil soon passed, as did his grieving spouse soon after, leaving only their son to carry on. This son grew and it was soon found that he too, was bound to the willow - he could talk to it, feel it. He grew to love a woman, falling helplessly for her; they married and she bore him two children, although he soon passed, not being able to save himself. His wife, Maerwen told their story to her children."

Surprise leapt onto Legolas' already stunned face at the mention of Maerwen's name.

"Yes, Legolas, Maerwen. Her husband was Handion, of whom _Yávië_ is written."

Legolas thought back to the book:

'_Thus, he fell into the willow's spirit, binding tree and Elf. This was Handion's sanctuary, the one place he felt at home…_

…_Just as the willow took hold of his spirit, he whispered one name._

"_Maerwen."'_

"Then--" Legolas faltered. "Then, _Yávië_ is not a story…"

Thranduil shook his head.

"It is a recording of Handion and Maerwen's life, passed down through generations until it was accepted as mere myth and written onto pages. Maerwen died of grief not long after Handion's passing, yet her children remembered her account - one of these children was bound to the willow tree, one was not; the one that was, of course, went on to fall and die.

"When you live for thousands of years, Legolas, it is not difficult to stumble across one's soulmate and fall for them. Thus the generations of those bound to the willow tree - or bound by Yávië, as they call it - have successively been born, lived, loved and died, passing on the 'curse' to their descendants.

"This was eventually passed to Mablung. And then…"

Thranduil paused and sighed, wondering how to word it. Yet Legolas knew how to complete his father's sentence and did so, his face still unmoving in pure overwhelming shock.

"…And then it was passed to Idril, of whom is now bound to the willow tree. This is why she is afraid of love, this is why-- of course…"

He stopped, his words retreating into his mind alone. Thranduil watched with concern and wondered what Legolas would next do, hoping that it was not something foolish as unfortunately, his son had a tendency of doing.

At last Legolas' eyes focused on Thranduil, a million questions swimming within them.

"How do I know this?" Thranduil said, knowing that he could answer at least one of his son's questions presently. "I am a friend of Mablung, and as he saw our children becoming quite attached to one another decided that I should be fully aware of his concerns and know of any consequences of courtship between the two of you.

"Thankfully, we managed to pull you both apart and keep you apart for many thousands of years - we did not wish for either of you to die. Unfortunately, Idril's mother Garhirel persuaded her to attend the Festival earlier this year in Autumn and thus you reunited.

"I was not overly worried - it was only one night that you spoke and then you both returned home. It was only when I realised your continuing earnest desire to see more of her that my concerns once again ignited."

There was silence once more and Thranduil, recognising that Legolas was yet not moving, decided to continue and inform Legolas of as much information now, before he would invariably leave.

"Yávië Elves can be recognised by their remarkable hair colour and eyes - yet these colours are not exclusively restricted to Elves of such a nature. Hence, there is a uniquely distinguishable feature of the Yávië Elves, which no other being can bear.

"Upon their stomachs is a small mark - a picture, barely as large as a walnut but absolutely visible. It is of a willow tree, naturally, encompassed by a tight circle - you may remember this being mentioned in Yávië. It is not drawn on, nor created at all by who it belongs to. It simply appears, around a Yávië Elf's tenth winter, which is the time in which a Yávië Elf in love fades."

Legolas was hit by a memory: the night shared with Idril in the river, he saw something on her stomach, but he had quickly ignored it as dirt or debris from the water.

Thranduil's second sentence finally entered his mind, as Thranduil had obviously been waiting for it to do.

"Winter? They die in…? But… it is winter, does that mean…?"

"Yes."

Legolas half-rose from his chair, his eyes darting around as the recent information impressed on his mind. Thranduil quickly spoke before Legolas made any senseless decisions.

"Legolas, be aware that she will only die if she is in love with you - do you believe that she is?"

Legolas remained motionless, his body in the odd position of half-standing, half-sitting, his arms supporting his body by pressing into the chair's arms.

"Yes," he answered finally and confidently. Thranduil pulled in his lips.

"I feared as much. Well, Legolas, I believe that is all that you need to know for now. If you so wish, you may ride to see her."

Legolas took his father's words more as a command than permission as he ran out of the Library as fast as his legs could move.

He felt not the straining of his thigh muscles nor the biting wind whipping his face as he ran out into the courtyard - his only focus was on locating Andúnë and reaching Idril's home as soon as possible. Already more than one week of winter had passed. He leapt onto the unsuspecting but willing Andúnë and spurred him swiftly into the forest.

-

Idril folded the parchment into quarters and rose from her chair. Her cheeks were wet from innumerable tears; she did not know if she was still crying or not.

As she walked out of her bedroom, she saw into the room opposite – Eldanén's bedroom. He was sitting on his bed, a book in his hands, although his eyes were still, not reading the words on the page. She could sense that he was troubled by something, which saddened her. Her young brother had not been his usual self the past fortnight or so.

She entered his room; he did not look up or acknowledge her presence as she drew near to him. Brushing his brown hair back, she pressed a kiss onto his forehead, and then left him.

Exiting his room and now in the corridor, she looked towards the front room and although she could not see it for a corner, she knew that her parents were in there. Part of her pulled her towards them, but instead her feet carried her in the opposite direction, towards the stairs at the back door. Along the way, she passed the spare room in which Ibby slept. The door was shut, and Idril stared at it, wondering whether or not to check on Ibby.

It seemed that her feet willed her not to do so, as she moved towards the back door.

After opening it, the winter wind immediately let itself in, chilling Idril's face. She quickly moved out and closed it, so as to not let too much into the warm house. Everything was a blur as she crossed the small platform to the stairs that her father had built in his healthier days. It was drizzling; she tucked the parchment under her arm so as to protect the ink from rain.

It was a dark winter morning – hardly yet dawn, but the blue hue from the fading night gave enough light to aid Idril in seeing through the rain as she descended the stairs.

-

"Mablung?"

Garhirel watched Mablung with concern as he attempted to lower himself into a chair. He was too weak to lower himself and halfway down, his arms lost their strength, and he fell the rest of the way into the fortunately soft-backed chair. He groaned.

Garhirel moved over to her husband, worry written in her gaze as she crouched to his eye level and studied him.

"My love, what is happening? Why is your health fading so?"

Mablung met her gaze. He smiled at the love that he could see in her eyes and at the irony that although she could love him, she could not bring herself to truly love another of his kind, their daughter.

Shame promptly followed this. Garhirel loved him and still she did not know of the truth of the Yávië Elves. She did not know that he would die, along with Idril, any day now.

For what seemed like long moments but was most probably only a minute, Mablung debated with himself as to whether or not he should tell her.

Garhirel swiftly rose and entered the kitchen. Instants later she returned with a warm bowl of soup and a spoon, and held it out for him.

"You must eat this – you will be better," she said, although Mablung knew that her words were but hope. He had made up his mind.

"Garhirel, put that broth away and bring a chair next to mine."

She looked confused, but did so, returning the soup to the kitchen and quickly pulling a dining chair close to his.

In the second of hesitation it took for Mablung to decide to carry through with his decision, the sound of a horse slowly dominated that of the drizzle. Both Elves sat in silence, and upon hearing the horse approach their home and stop outside it, Garhirel rose and opened the front door, though not stepping outside for there was no sort of covering over the rain-soaked balcony.

There were no sounds but for the rain as Mablung watched Garhirel peering out the door. Her expression soon changed from confusion to surprise.

"Is Idril here?" Mablung heard, unmistakably, the voice of Legolas ask. Garhirel gestured for him to enter the house and he did so.

His wet hair was stuck to his neck and tunic and his boots left light marks on the wooden floor of the house. Upon spying Mablung, he nodded in greeting.

"Mablung. Are you well?" he asked. Although Mablung sensed there was more behind his question than mere politeness, he answered as though there was not.

"I am well, thank you, Legolas."

Garhirel had already left down the corridor to find Idril. Mablung observed Legolas. He was switching his weight from foot to foot and breathing quickly.

"Is something troubling you, my Prince?"

Without missing a beat, Legolas replied:

"Yes."

He looked directly into Mablung's eyes, yet Mablung could not read them. Legolas moved one step closer to where Mablung was seated.

"I know of the Yávië."

"Ah." Mablung did not speak further, but smiled slightly at Legolas. He was relieved, in a way, that at least Legolas had some idea of what was happening. Yet also he was sad for Legolas, that he should be affected by the Yávië, for Mablung had grown quite fond of him.

Garhirel returned into the front room.

"I cannot find Idril. She is not in her room, nor anywhere else inside."

"She left," said a small voice from behind Garhirel. She moved aside to see Eldanén standing in the entrance of the corridor.

Everyone's eyes focused on the young Elf.

"Father, you must know something."

* * *

**A/N:** **The story of the beginning of Arda and of the Music and the Valar is, of course, Tolkien's. I, however, created the idea of Yavanna singing about the Yá****vië**** Elves and also Tathardil and his descendants.  
**

**I have a zillion excuses for not updating sooner, but I won't burden you with them - I'll only say that the next three chapters are written and beta-ed and will be up once I am sure they're as good as I can make them.**

**Thanks so much to all of those who have been reading and/or reviewing! Feedback just makes my day. :)**

**Take care, everyone!**

_-Laura._


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

-

Eldanén moved forward a few steps, all eyes upon his small frame. Ibby appeared from behind him, rubbing her eyes, obviously woken by the morning noises made by the Elves. She looked around and recognised that something important was happening, so moved to an empty chair that was positioned next to Mablung. Legolas was there, which surprised her. He stood, soaked, halfway between where Mablung was sitting and the front door. Garhirel was next to him.

Eldanén did not say anything, but stared at his father in sadness and apology. He soon erupted into words.

"Father, I am sorry! I was scared and I thought that it would go away but it hasn't and I think I know what it is but I do not want it to be--"

"Hush, Eldanén," interrupted Mablung, and Eldanén quieted immediately, close to tears. "Come to me."

Eldanén walked to his father so that he was standing directly before him, with Ibby seated to one side of Mablung, and Legolas and Garhirel standing to the other. Mablung reached forward as he brushed away the few tears that were forming in his son's eyes.

"Now, what is the matter?" he asked gently. Eldanén sniffed, then stood back one pace and without a word, lifted his shirt.

Ibby gasped – Mablung had spoken of this to her before and she knew what it meant. But did the others? She looked around quickly: Mablung was certainly extremely surprised, and he drew breath quickly in shock; Legolas was gazing at Eldanén in wonder; Garhirel just looked confused.

Upon Eldanén's stomach was a picture of a black willow tree, with a thick black circle surrounding it closely.

After long moments of silence, Mablung spoke in a careful low tone.

"Eldanén: you do know what this then means, do you not?"

Eldanén nodded his head, his lips tucked in and his eyes red.

"It means that I am like you. And like Idril."

"Don't you want that?" Ibby asked, but embarrassment took over quickly as all heads turned to look at her. Nonetheless, Eldanén nodded.

"Yes. But… but…"

"It is frightening," completed Mablung. Eldanén nodded sorrowfully. Garhirel watched on from the side, still utterly bewildered, yet Ibby dared not say any more.

"This means that you are like us," said Mablung, repeating his son's earlier words. "But there is something else. Because you are now of the Yávië, like Idril and myself, as well as not in love, it therefore means," he snuck a sideways glance at Legolas, who had been standing motionless the entire time, trying to absorb everything.

"That you have saved us, Eldanén," he finished with a whisper.

It took a while for the smile to appear on Ibby's face but when it did, she found that she could not ease it. She looked around: Legolas still appeared utterly bewildered, although his mouth was now hanging open and she could see joy in his eyes. Garhirel seemed as though she wanted to scream a thousand different questions but could not find one with highest priority.

Mablung turned to see Garhirel.

"My apologies, Garhirel. I promise to you that all will be explained later." There was a smile in his voice as he spoke. He then faced Legolas.

"My dear Prince, I am unsure if you know the very intricacies of the Yávië. Of all Elves of Yávië, if but one is not in love, then the willow to which we are bound has strength to survive the winter, and thus do the Yávië Elves."

Legolas grinned immediately at this news and began to look around the room, as if contemplating through which door he could reach Idril fastest. Ibby quickly stole a glance at Eldanén - he was smiling, though still shaking from nerves.

Legolas' mouth moved as though he was going to speak, but could not.

"Yes, yes, go find Idril," said Mablung, a smile upon his face also.

"Where would I find her?" asked Legolas quickly. The smile slowly ebbed from Mablung's face as he thought gravely.

"You may want to try the Old Willow. And you may want to hurry," he added. Legolas needed no more motivation - he turned and ran out of the front door. Mablung removed the tears from his son's cheeks, then stood slowly and placed a hand on the small of Garhirel's back, leading her on to the balcony, where the rain had now ceased.

"My love, there is much I need to tell you."

-

The drizzle had stopped and Idril now stood before the Old Willow, staring up to the tip of it, then down to the roots poking up out of the moist soil. She entered through the weeping branches and reached the trunk. Slowly, she lowered herself to the wet ground, her long-sleeved, ivory-coloured dress staining, but it did not matter. The two things she held in her hands she placed upon the ground beside her.

She leaned back on to the trunk of the willow, closing her eyes in bliss, enjoying the feel of the tree's spirit fully inside her for what was to be the last time.

She stayed like this until she felt it was right to end it. After drawing out of the willow reluctantly, she found that a very light sprinkle had begun again and that the sun had managed to dimly light the forest in a shade of watery pink.

She looked upon the folded parchment. It was so small, so delicate, yet so significant. Her eyes moved to the elegantly curved foot-long dagger lying beside it.

-

Legolas had decided against riding Andúnë, as the complicated maze of branches of the forest would hinder his speed. Instead he was just running, weaving between the roots and limbs, dew flicking onto his leggings.

He knew the way by heart to the willow tree - Idril had led him there many a time when they were younger, though back then he never did understand her fascination with it.

Low strands of moonlight pushed through the thick canopy, lighting his way as he sprinted over grass and roots.

-

It was pretty, she had deduced. The blade was smooth and curved slightly, the metal only just catching the remains of the moonlight. Small blue gems lay in the silver hilt and engravings of Elvish ran across it, spinning beautiful verse.

She picked it up - time slowed so dramatically it seemed to have stopped - she raised her head to see for one last time the stars of the night sky.

She closed her eyelids, dim imprints of stars remaining before her sight.

Her heart beat rose. Her breathing sharpened. If she did not do it soon, she knew she would never. If she did not do it soon…

She thrust in one swift motion. Metal punctured the flesh of her heart. She fell forward. Her last sensation was the touch of her face against the dew on the grass.

-

Legolas crashed through the trees. He did not know why he was in such a hurry - he did not have time to think about it properly. So, he had settled on that it was because of Mablung's suggestion of haste, along with the terms in which he and Idril had last seen each other. Had he yelled at her? He couldn't remember.

He had to find her. Everything was all right now. She would not die, she could love him and he her… he may actually be able to court her without making her run away at the end.

He was nearing the willow. What if she wasn't there? What if she was back at the treehouse by now? Perhaps she already knew about her good fortune. What if she was looking for him now?

The willow loomed before him suddenly. He slowed. Through the limp dead branches, he could see her slightly, but something was wrong…

Brow furrowed, he reached the branches and opened them like a curtain.

Blood was pooled on the ground, staining Idril's dress. Her dark hair covered half of her face; she lay on her stomach, her head tilted to one side. Her eyes were closed, unmoving, her unusually pale lips slightly parted. A blood-cloaked dagger lay in one of her open palms.

Legolas stood frozen.

She could not be…

He had never dealt with this sort of thing before. He had never had to.

He numbly approached her body and knelt before it. He carefully lifted her hair from her face, gasping as his finger met the skin of her cheek. It was stone cold and near white, matching the colour of her dress. His hand stroked her cheek, as if that simple action would bring warmth and life back to it, and listened desperately for the sound of breathing, or but one heart beat.

There were none. Her body was lifeless.

He pulled her from the ground, her body hanging limply in his arms. The front of her dress was completely stained scarlet. He raised her head and examined her face - it had no expression and was extremely pale in comparison to her bloody dress. Blood still seeped weakly from a slit between her breasts, running down her front and onto Legolas' arms.

Tears stung his eyes, and as he looked upon her blood on his skin, he whimpered. A crescendo was building, he could feel it, and the more he forced it back, the stronger it became.

Tears rolled, he gasped for air; he was breathless for a moment before he began screaming through tears. He held her body to his securely, never wanting to let her go, desperately hoping that she would return, though he knew that she never would.

The empty forest stood still as his cries echoed throughout it - the wailing of yet another who had loved a doomed Yávië Elf.

As dawn broke, he looked upon her face through his tears and kissed her cold lips.

He withdrew, yet something caught his attention - lying upon the ground near Idril, folded in four, was a piece of parchment. He reached forward, being careful not to harm Idril although he knew she would not feel it. In his hand, he held what he somehow knew to be her last words.

He hesitated before opening it. Did he really want to know what she wrote?

He inhaled, trying ardently to calm his emotions and tears. He kissed Idril's forehead as a thank you, then unfolded the paper.

Black ink ran across it, creating tidy Elvish letters. It was smudged in some places - due to tears or rain, he did not know.

He cleared his eyes of tears and began to read.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

-_  
_

_Legolas,_

_I am sorry - I must say this now - for if you have found this letter, then you know of what I have done. I am sorry for ending all things this way, and for making these past three months difficult for you. _

_I am a Yávië Elf. You know what this is, if you have read 'Yávië' - it holds all answers to my behaviour and worries. I am sorry, again, for not telling you. I hope that you can understand that to tell you would break my heart further than it already is._

_Living knowing that you love me is both torture and bliss. For, Legolas, as I am sure you know, I love you. I tried to repress this feeling for so long, praying that it would fade. But as it did not, and winter drew near, I realised that I was but another of my kind doomed to die for love. _

_It is a madness and I am confused and alone. There are but two things I am sure of: that I love you, which is itself forbidden, and that I love my father and do not wish to witness his death, which I have caused. Hence, this seems the only suitable way out. I cannot bear to see you, for you inspire in me such opposing emotions: joy and sadness, logic and irrationalism, love and irritation. I do not want to fog my mind more than it is._

_I pray to the Valar that you will not die because of this. Not two nights ago I held a lengthy discussion with my father about what happens to the Yávië Elves when they die. As you read this, I should be in the Halls of Mandos, being judged. Thus in Valinor I may wait for you, if you will take me._

_Yet for now, you must live on, as I know that you have more to accomplish, more to give to this beautiful world. When you are done, I hope to see you in the Undying Lands, regardless of whether this wish is requited._

_It saddens me greatly to end both this letter and this friendship. Our love was so young, and yet so old._

_For now, I wish you luck and love. Farewell._

_Idril._

-

**500 years later**

"Legolas, quickly!"

Legolas stole one last glance at the yellowed parchment, its now grey ink almost illegible but for the keenness of Legolas' eyes.

'_I wish you luck and love.'_

He folded the paper into its familiar quarters and slotted it into his close-fitting boot, where it would remain firmly positioned between the leather and his calf, before exiting his bedroom.

Thranduil was standing at the end of the corridor surrounded by five confidantes, all of whom were speaking to the King at the same time, all with a different opinion. Upon seeing Legolas, Thranduil beckoned him to follow, then quickly descended the nearby stairs, his five companions following and not ceasing in their debate; Legolas was not far behind.

At reaching the bottom of the stairs, Thranduil, exasperated by his now loudly quarrelling confidantes, grabbed onto Legolas' upper arm and hurried him along the hallways until they reached the front room and then outside in the courtyard. There were dozens of Elves filling the courtyard: this was something that seemed to please Thranduil, as he could now no longer hear the voices of his five companions over the noise of the many Elves.

Six horses there were, including Legolas' mount, Girithron. Of the Elves, five were of Legolas' company, as well as maidens wishing their lovers farewell, advisers bickering amongst themselves as to whose opinion was held most highest, stablehands tending to the horses, and Queen Irethel, who was busy politely excusing herself from the throng around her to meet Legolas.

She clasped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.

"Be wary," she said, before kissing him once more. Legolas returned this with a quick peck on the cheek and a smile, then made his way to Girithron.

He jumped onto the horse's back. Following their Prince were his five companions, who gave one last farewell to their women before mounting their steeds. Thranduil was standing at Legolas' side before he could ride away.

"Legolas, remember: reveal not too much, nor too little. The facts should suffice: Sméagol has escaped, although through no fault of the Elves. That is all I believe needs to be said to the Council… yes, that is all. I wish you a fair journey, my son."

He patted Legolas' thigh as a farewell, then moved over to his wife to watch Legolas and his company off.

Legolas looked around him, taking in the sights of his homeland. It would be a while before he would return: Imladris was no short distance.

He spurred on his horse and disappeared into the forest, his companions not far behind.


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

-

The Hobbits are asleep, hidden beneath their blankets, only small tufts of hair being exposed to the cold night air. Gimli is not asleep - not yet, I think. They all toss under their sheets; this journey has lasted not two weeks yet but it is affecting them all nonetheless. I do not blame them. I for one have never missed my home more.

Gandalf is by the fire, smoking, as usual. He is deep in thought - when is he not? - and he blows smoke rings almost subconsciously, which float along the air before fading into the fire. Boromir has just sat down beside him. Will he make conversation, I wonder?

It seems not. He stares into the fire, and I cannot read his eyes. Aragorn has wandered into the night. I would have done so myself, but for the comfort of the fire.

My boots are nearby. Should I…?

I reach into them before I can answer my own question. Here it is. The only proof I have of Idril's very existence.

Gandalf and Boromir are still immersed in their own minds. I unfold the paper quietly and gently - it is so old, I fear it may tear soon. The writing, which I have before studied for countless hours, is almost indistinguishable from the parchment itself, as it is a dark night with no moon.

Memories. Sometimes it is hard to make myself believe that the images in my head, replaying my days with Idril, are not some trick that my mind is playing on me. But I know she existed. I saw her, heard her, touched her - she was so real, and our love was so real.

Carrying her lifeless body back to her home, out of the rain, was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Her father was distraught, naturally, as were her brother, Ibby and even her mother. I suppose you only really know what matters to you once you are refused to have it. I know that Garhirel wept for months over the loss of her daughter.

I am glad that Mablung is still alive and well - he inspired me as a child and I suppose he still does. His knowledge and kindness are, I believe, unsurpassed.

Aragorn has returned. He surveys the campsite, then sits by the fire. I should probably move over there soon as well. The dead tree against which I am sitting eerily sighs above me and I have to admit, I am intimidated - this is almost forbidden to feel when you are a warrior.

I have seen Eldanén recently - he has grown up well and fully embraced his Yávië roots. I spoke to him not two years ago. Mostly about Idril, of course. He does not remember her very well as he was only ten when she took her life. What he does remember is the guilt afterwards, of not telling his father sooner, because had he done so, Idril would be alive.

I told him that we should not dwell on regrets or the past, as that is all it is - the past. It is not able to be changed or entered, only to be learned from.

Now, Ibby. She left Mablung and Garhirel after word got to my mother that she was in Mirkwood. I never knew that mother was great friends with Ibby's parents, but because of this, mother 'adopted' her, you might say. Of course, there were regular visits to Mablung and Garhirel's home, but because of the small size of the treehouse, it was not possible to keep Ibby forever.

What happened to her then?

Oh yes. She met a Gondorian man, they married and lived in Osgiliath. She raised a family, then at forty-four years old, passed on. Mother was most upset, I remember. Ibby had grown dear to us all.

I stand and move to the fire, and sit by Aragorn.

"Have you reached a decision?" I ask. Aragorn looks grim and shakes his head.

"No. I do not like either option, whether we turn towards Caradhras or Moria, and the rest of the company will not have their own preferences swayed."

"You do know that I dislike the notion of Moria, as does most of the Company."

Aragorn sighs.

"I am aware."

There is silence. Not uncomfortable silence, just… silence. I turn to Aragorn.

"I will follow your guidance, no matter what the rest of the company may desire."

Aragorn faces me and nods in understanding. I like this man.

"I am grateful to you, Legolas."

I do believe we could become good friends. He is the only one in this company whom I would trust wholeheartedly. I am becoming fond of the Hobbits, of course, but Aragorn is a man of honour. He will remain true to his word.

He stands and leaves the fire, walking under the night. Boromir stands also. He moves over to a place on the ground and pulls on a blanket.

I look at the folded parchment in my hands, then at the Fellowship. Idril is my past, this Fellowship and quest is my present. And Idril will then be my future, in Valinor.

The fire crackles before me, the night wind strokes my skin. I bring the parchment to my lips and kiss it gently, then look to the stars.

The end.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, here's the list of 'thank you's!**

**Thank you to, first and foremost, the readers and most especially the reviewers. You are why this story continued and ended without me tiring of it, as happened with all my other attempts. An extra thanks to those who have reviewed consistently and/or been helpful - particular mention goes to SofiaB and moonshine4488, both of whom have stories which I love dearly :). I have appreciated _everybody_'s thoughts throughout the making of this story. I'm going to try to read a lot more stories by reviewers now that I don't have any other story commitments, as so many people on here are so talented!  
**

**Thanks to my beta and best friend, Candy, for your honesty - too often this is passed up for 'politeness'. Thanks to my friends, who have always been supportive.**

**Thanks to the music artists who have inspired me! These include: Jem, Jeff Buckley, and The Corrs. I listened to all three endlessly whilst writing the later chapters of this story.**

**And of course, thank you to Prof. Tolkien, for creating the alternate world in which I occasionally live, and to Peter Jackson for making it truly come alive.**

**It's been a great journey and I'm glad to have shared it with all of the above!**

**All my love.**

_-Laura._**  
**


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